Cursed
by michael1812
Summary: So much darkness and pain: a family, a team, torn apart. Have all their efforts been for nothing? Is there still hope? A stranger returns to haunt Torchwood, but can they step out of the shadows, can they believe in miracles again? post-S2&Journey's End
1. Chapter 1

A restless wind blew across the graveyard.

The green grass twitched by the wind's cold touch. Brown leaves were carried away, off to distant shores.

"Let the dead rest in peace," the vicar spoke.

An elderly woman buried her head in the chest and arms of her husband.

She was not the only one shedding tears for the deceased.

"This man deserves his rest. He is a hero. A fallen hero. A beloved son of God."

A small group of people, all dressed in black, stood beside the casket, which would soon be lowered into the ground.

A young woman stood closest to the brown, wooden casket. Her black dress danced in the cold wind.

She gazed defiantly up at the white sky.

Tears ruined her mascara, smudging the black fluid around her eyes, until it poured down her face like black tears.

She was not afraid to cry.

The man who stood behind her gently touched her face in a gesture of support and comfort, but the girl did not seem comfortable with his touch.

She bowed her head and sobbed; the man hesitantly let go of her black shoulder.

And the vicar went on.

His words seemed to be carried away by the cold wind, echoing across the graveyard.

Finally, the girl couldn't handle it anymore.

She left.

She turned her back on the casket where her lover would sleep forever.

He would never kiss her again.

He would never touch her again.

He would never make her laugh again.

He was gone.

Her pace was slow. She had difficulty walking on the grey stones with her black, high heels.

Her eyes focused on the ground; she did not see what passed over her head.

Like a strange, shapeless liquid this substance seemed to float through the sky, invisible, almost unable to be seen by anyone who gazed at the bright, white sky.

But the substance was there, drawn to this place by some unknown force.

It was not conscious, not sentient, not solid, not real, unable to feel anything, unable to think, unable to see, or hear, anything.

It was floating through the air, flying, gliding, towards the casket.

The elderly woman gasped for breath when she saw this strange phenomenon float towards her son's final resting place, and the girl who'd walked away now gazed back to the funeral she just left.

More gasps followed as more eyes witnessed the strange, white phenomenon; their sounds seemed to merge with the sound of the wind which was blowing through the trees.

The vicar cradled his little book as the substance touched the wooden casket and somehow disappeared.

For a moment everything was silent, except for the wind and the birds, and the cars in the distance.

Unseen, within the darkness of the dead man's casket, the bright cloud of white light surrounded the corpse, until it seemed to merge with it and they became one.

The cloud slowly vanished into thin air, and the corpse's skull started to shine, but that too vanished.

Then the corpse opened his eyes.

His hands and head hit the wooden walls in the darkness ands he started screaming.

Screaming in the darkness where he thought no-one would hear him.

He enraged and exploded inside the casket and attacked the walls around him which locked him inside his worst nightmare.

"That's impossible!" one man spoke, who like everyone else now gazed upon the casket.

The corpse's pounding made the casket tremble and move.

It was an insane attack against the casket's locked lid, which no-one dared to open up.

And everyone heard a muffled voice within the casket, crying for help.

"For the love of God, open it!" someone finally dared to say. "Get him out of there!"

Quickly a few men approached the casket and unlocked it.

Their trembling hands were having difficulty touching the locks as the dead man inside the casket kept on screaming, yelling at the dark and attacking the wooden insides.

"Get me out!" the man cried as sunlight hit his face. "Get me out!"

The girl watched as they touched his black suit and his cold hands , and when they set him down upon the green grass they subtly backed away in fright.

The corpse gasped for breath, clutching his heart in absolute terror.

Everything was spinning, and he backed away from the people surrounding the casket just as they backed away from him.

She stood near the entrance of the graveyard, in the shadow of the church and surrounding trees; she only had eyes for him.

"You're alive…" one of the men spoke ghastly.

"Where am I?" the corpse cried.

The vicar closed his eyes and started to mutter prayers to himself.

"Joseph, we have to get you to a doctor."

"Who's Joseph?" the dead man asked. "Joseph…"

He repeated his words in a strange manner. "What's happened to my voice?"

"You're Joseph! Don't you remember?!" the same man yelled at him. "Joseph, don't you see where you are? This is your funeral! You were pronounced dead four days ago!"

"That's impossible," Joseph spoke, still disorientated and confused as he stammered and staggered like a drunk man's final moments before he passed out.

"Joseph, it's me, David," David spoke. "Let me check your pulse. Let me help you!"

"I don't need help," Joseph spoke.

He did not feel the cold wind which was blowing into his face.

"I need to get back."

A few had already grabbed their mobile phones and called either an ambulance, the police or the tabloids.

The old woman was crying and freaked out as Joseph seemed to approach her, but he only passed her by and only glanced at her once, not realising he was looking at his own mother.

"Joseph!" David yelled. "Where are you going? Joseph! You can't leave! Joseph! You need to go to a hospital! You can't just leave like this! JOSEPH!"

But he didn't listen.

He ventured into the wind's direction.

Grey clouds were forming in the distance into which Joseph was heading.

And no-one dared to stop the dead man as he left his own funeral.


	2. Chapter 2

Rhys Williams was cleaning up his apartment with one hand and held a glass of water in the other as he talked to his wife over the phone, which he clenched between his shoulder and his head.

"So how long will you be gone tonight?" he asked her, as he stepped out of the kitchen, and into the apartment's living room. "Should I be eating my lovely turkey on my own then?"

"You didn't buy turkey, you big ape," Gwen replied on the other side of the line.

"I might have, you don't know that," Rhys replied; he put down his glass of water on the table and quickly reached for the pack of cookies which stood at the centre of the small wooden table.

"You don't even like turkey," Gwen spoke.

"Chicken then," Rhys said, reaching his hand down into the small plastic pack for one round, flat cookie.

"Look, is this going somewhere?" Gwen asked. "All this talk of food will only make you feel more hungry."

"I know," Rhys replied as he sat down and quickly took a bite from his cookie. "It's terrible."

Rhys glanced at the muted television; he could still make out what the people on the television were saying, even though he'd turned the sound off.

"I do miss you, though," Rhys spoke.

"I miss you too," Gwen replied.

"So I'll see you tomorrow then? Same time, same place?" Rhys asked witty.

"Love you." Gwen spoke amused.

"Love you too, beautiful," Rhys replied. "Good luck saving the world."

Rhys glanced at the door as he heard the doorbell ring.

"Enjoy your Chinese take-out dinner," Gwen concluded.

"I will thanks," Rhys said, getting up from the sofa to open the door.

Warm light entered past the apartment's red curtains and its reflection was visible in the recently waxed wooden floor.

Rhys quickly swallowed the last bits of cookies and wiped the crumbs off his sweater, before he approached the door.

The doorbell rang again and Rhys pushed a button so he could speak through the speaker.

"Hello, who's this?" Rhys asked.

"Can I come up?" a mysterious, unknown voice asked.

Rhys grew cautious as he heard it, and he could sense something wasn't right about this man.

"Who is this?" he asked. "Who are you?"

His eyes glanced again at the muted television and the red, comfortable sofa he had just left behind.

"I can't explain right now," the stranger spoke, with a dark mysterious voice.

"You'd better," Rhys said, "I'm not letting you up until you tell me who you are."

He was being cautious; for all he knew this could be a burglar, a murderer, a stalker, or an alien.

Gwen had once told Rhys of the risks he was taking by marrying her.

The enemies of Torchwood were now his enemies as well.

They could get to Gwen by getting Rhys.

It was as simple as that.

"Please, listen to me," the stranger spoke tiredly, angrily. "You can't believe the day I am having. I need to talk to Gwen…"

"No," Rhys said firmly.

"Please, hear me out," the stranger continued. "I need her help. I'm begging you. Listen, Rhys, I know I can trust you. Just let me go up and I'll explain everything there."

Rhys wanted to let him up, but a part of him still wouldn't listen.

How did he know his name?

Rhys now knew this had to be either a friend or a foe, but which one?

He was grinding his teeth as he struggled to solve this dilemma.

"She'll hate me for this," Rhys said to himself as he pushed the next button and unlocked the door for the stranger who stood at his doorstep, one level lower.

"Stupid man. Stupid, stupid, stupid man. I'm going to get killed."

Rhys imagined how the mysterious stranger went up the stairwell and approached his door.

Quickly he searched for something which he could use as a weapon.

Any blunt instrument would do.

"At least I'm well protected," Rhys said to himself as he grabbed the umbrella with his two hands.

He could hear footfalls approaching his door and Rhys prepared himself for the confrontation which would soon follow.

Rhys cursed at himself now, realising he should've called Gwen immediately.

It was too late for that now; he looked at the small table near the television and saw that he left his phone there, but there wasn't time to grab it and call Gwen.

The stranger would soon be standing right in front of his door.

"Bloody hell, this is serious," Rhys muttered. "There could be an alien standing on my doorstep! With death-rays, and tentacles or a big stick!"

Why was he joking?

He imagined Gwen's voice in his head.

"How the hell did it get in?" he mimicked, softly first, but then louder. "Because I opened the door! You fool! You fool! You bloody fool!"

Finally he heard the footfalls grow louder, until the stranger stood in front of his door, knocking and asking to be let in.

Rhys was sweating only slightly. Gwen had taught him how to keep every exit in his sight, so he stood in such a position he could see both the front door and the door to the terrace.

"Rhys?" the voice asked. "Could you open the door?"

"I changed my mind!" Rhys yelled. "I'm not letting you in!"

"I'm not going to harm you!" the voice on the other side of the door said. "I just want to talk! I need to talk to Gwen! I know she's at work, but do you have any clue when she'll be coming back?"

"You're not getting in!" Rhys yelled.

"Rhys, listen to me!" the voice spoke. "I'm a friend! I know you probably don't recognise my voice, but it's me!"

Rhys didn't understand; he did however, instinctively, lower his umbrella.


	3. Chapter 3

They were fast.

Incredibly fast.

Their black cloaks were the only thing Gwen saw before the dangerous creatures disappeared into the shadows, gracefully wielding their deadly scythes within their swift hands.

"Jack!" Gwen cried. "I'm going to need back-up here!"

She backed away into the light, away from the shadow.

The enormous warehouse was crawling with the disciples of death, as Ianto liked to call them.

But this time he wasn't whispering jokes into her ear.

He too was as silent as death, fearing for her life.

Without knowing it, Gwen had stumbled upon the alien's hide-out.

"Gwen, get out of there!" Jack's voice yelled into her earpiece. "NOW!"

The first thing she did was run for the exit, but the swift shadows outran her before she even realised it.

Gwen fired into the darkness, but her bullets hit nothing but the rusty walls.

A dark voice laughed in the shadows of the warehouse. "You cannot stop us! Everyone shall die in the upcoming cleansing fire! Your world shall be cleansed! All disbelievers and heathens shall die! Repent and you shall be spared!"

Gwen's heart was beating in her throat.

Drops of cold sweat on her forehead and in her armpit made her feel weird and sick.

Nevertheless, her eyes and aim were not affected by her fears; quite the contrary.

Her own bravery surprised Gwen.

She quickly turned around and fired into the darkness beside her; this time she did not miss.

A hooded figure wielding a deadly scythe fell to the ground and remained still as death took hold of him.

The voice in the darkness yelled, mourning the loss of his disciple and friend.

Gwen backed away from the shadows and did everything to stay in the light.

"Jack, I can't keep them off much longer!" Gwen spoke into her microphone.

"You are right, girl!" the devilish voice cried in the darkness and suddenly a large, black scythe emerged in front of her.

Another hooded figure, dressed in black, now stood behind her and had almost slit Gwen's throat with his big blade if she hadn't dropped to the floor that very second.

Painfully, her back hit the floor and Gwen fired at the hooded figure behind her; he too fell to the ground with an alien squirm.

Gwen never saw the alien's face, even when the light crawled beneath his hood.

It was like they had no face.

They were faceless creatures of shadow and darkness.

His scythe turned into nothing but a stick as the dark blade faded away at the same time its owner died.

Gwen quickly got to her feet and evaded another attack.

"We're almost there," Ianto whispered into Gwen's ear. "Just hold on. We're almost there."

"You cannot escape!" the dark voice cried again in the darkness. "You cannot escape the upcoming fire!"

Gwen glanced over her shoulder; the warehouse's exit was not far away, but the next light flickered and malfunctioned.

Every few seconds the last few feet leading to the door were drowned in darkness.

The shadows could get her there.

Gwen needed light.

The disciples of death could not step into the light for too long.

She could escape.

Another hooded disciple attacked her, but Gwen never let her guard down.

Another three shots from her gun echoed through the large warehouse, but now she realised she was running out of bullets.

Gwen almost reached the last patch of light.

Timing was everything.

"Your world will drown in the darkness of our attack! The water will wash away your filth and make way for the one true religion! You heathens will all die!"

Gwen was really getting annoyed by his speeches.

He was really starting to piss her off; his speeches, together with the running nose she's been having for days.

The light flickered.

Gwen glanced into the darkness behind her as she aimed her weapon at the shadows in front of her.

She wiped her nose, gathered courage and cradled her gun tightly within her hands.

Timing was everything.

The light returned and Gwen saw how a hooded figure quickly stepped away from the centre of the light's range.

Gwen jumped into the light and fired at the hooded figure, knowing fully well that he would evade the bullet, but she had to scare him away.

She blinked and darkness returned, quicker than she had anticipated.

Dark shadows approached and Gwen could think of nothing else than to run towards the exit as fast as she could.

She could see the narrow opening between the doors; they hadn't been fully closed.

That narrow opening could just as well save her life.

Gwen pushed her body to its very edge.

Her heartbeat was beginning to hurt her.

She unintentionally dropped her gun as she ran through the darkness, knowing that the disciples of death were right behind her.

In her head she could almost feel the cold metal of the heavy door touching her fingertips.

But her fingers would not touch the door.

A swift scythe touched her leg and made her trip.

She hit her head against the metal wall beside the door.

Moonlight which crept through the narrow opening touched her face.

The hooded figures were darker than darkness itself; Gwen could see them standing over her, cradling their deadly, long scythes within their bony fingers.

One of the hooded figures approached Gwen and kneeled down beside her to whisper in her ear.

"Repent, Gwen Cooper Williams, guardian of the Rift, and worthy foe, and we may spare your life…" the dark voice whispered into her ear. "Repent! Acknowledge the superiority and existence of the one and only God and rid yourselves of the shackles of your heathen ways, and we shall spare your life!"

His scythe glistened as moonlight fell upon the black blade.

Gwen couldn't control her own breathing.

She gazed into the darkness where the alien's face should be and stopped her trembling lip.

She said nothing.

She gazed defiantly at the hooded figure, without saying a single word.

The hooded leader slowly backed away from Gwen and returned to stand upright beside his brothers.

"So be it," the dark voice spoke, "Your soul will be devoured on the other side."

Suddenly an engine's roar was heard in the distance and it was approaching them swiftly.

Then footfalls were heard alongside the sound of the engine, and one of the hooded figure quickly tried to close the door.

The moonlight which shined in Gwen's face was gone, and the darkness absorbed her.

"Gwen!" Jack cried.

"No!" the hooded figure with the dark voice yelled, and he raised his scythe to attack Gwen.

Just before the door was locked, it was kicked open and a motorcycle's bright headlights shined inside the warehouse.

The disciples of death quickly backed away as Captain Jack Harkness fired into the shadows, taking out at least three hooded figures.

Their scythes turned to dust as their owners hit the ground.

Jack stopped firing as he gazed at the disciples of death, with his gun smoking in his hands.

Ianto descended from his motorcycle without turning off the headlights.

Jack kneeled down to help Gwen without either lowering his gun or losing the hooded figures from his sight.

Gwen hugged Jack and he hugged her back, then Gwen quickly stepped behind Jack, to stand at Ianto's side.

Jack looked at each and everyone of the hooded figures with violent eyes and clenched jaws.

"I don't care who you are," Jack spoke to the hooded figures. "but know this,"

The hooded figures looked upon the silhouetted Captain Jack Harkness in awe, as the black motorcycle's bright light pushed them back into the shadows.

"We will not give up without a fight. You hear me? Go to war with planet Earth, and I ensure you, no I guarantee you, it will be messy. Now I say to you, we don't want your religion, we don't need your religion, and we sure as hell don't need your dead bodies spread across our streets.

"Hell, think about how hard it is to wash all of those bloodstains out of your nice, black cloaks!"

"Dreadful," Ianto quipped.

"Exactly," Jack spoke.

"Now go back to where you came from and never come back! For if you do, I promise you, I will never stop hunting you!"

He aimed his weapon and bloodthirsty, fragile eyes at the hooded figures.

He awaited their answer.

The leader of the disciples stepped out of the shadows and into the bright light.

His scythe scraped the white floor and he dragged his black cloak and robe across the floor as well as he approached Jack.

"Jack Harkness," he spoke with his dark voice. "Captain of the Rift. Your words do not frighten us. Our God gives us confidence. We are lead to victory, and you will not be able to vanquish us. Our fire will spread across your puny world and it will…"

Jack shot the hooded figure and he dropped to the floor without as much as a peep.

His black blood oozed on to the white floor.

"Anyone else?" Jack asked the other hooded figures as he spread out his arms.

Then he aimed his weapon in front of him again.

"See how your God leads you to victory? Some sacrifice he is! Come on! Think, for crying out loud! Stop this mess before it gets out of hand!"

The hooded figures looked at each other and faded away into the shadows.

They disappeared into thin air; even the corpse of their leader faded away like dust caught by wind.

Only his black blood was left behind on the white floor in front of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen put her back against the cold, stone wall.

Her lip was trembling, and she gazed with hollow eyes into the harbour, and the dark water not so far away.

Jack stood by her with a gentle smile and he positioned himself in Gwen's line of sight, forcing her to look up.

"You were brave back there, Gwen," Jack spoke. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Jack smiled only briefly.

His blue coat was dancing in the wind.

He placed his hands deep in his pockets.

"You're one of the strongest women I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and trust me, that's saying something."

"I thought I was dead," Gwen spoke.

The cold wind sent shivers down her spine.

Her hands touched the cold, stones of which the ground consisted, and the tiny bits of green weed which had been growing upwards, towards the sun.

"I really thought I was going to die back there," Gwen said.

"You didn't," Jack said. "That's the beauty of it. Times like these we wish we never have to face, but sometimes you just can't escape it. It's times like these which define us, which define you and humanity."

"You face them all the time," Gwen said and she looked up at the Captain. "You've gazed into the eyes of death so many times, but you've never had to fear that you might actually die. You have a thousand lives, Jack, but we only have one."

"I'm better than cats, huh?" Jack joked and he looked away into the distance.

Ianto was waiting by the SUV.

He patiently gazed at the stars, or at the ground, as he put both of his hands in his pockets.

"Truth is," Jack went on. "I fear death just as much as you do."

"We foolish mortals," Gwen quipped, making Jack laugh, if only briefly.

"I don't know how many lives I've got, Gwen. I could die tomorrow and I could never wake up again. I don't know that. I live my life, not knowing what's to come next. And I don't mind. It makes life much more surprising, much more worth living."

Gwen pushed the back of her head against the wall and gazed up at the moon which evaded the surrounding clouds just to reflect the sun's light upon her face.

Jack enjoyed the moonlight as well, and the cold wind which was blowing in his face, and the cloudless sky in this beautiful night.

The lights of the city were reflected in the black water of Cardiff's harbour.

"So, you're coming?" Jack asked.

He stretched out his hand towards Gwen; she smiled and took it.

Jack pulled her upright and hugged her.

Gwen placed her head on his shoulder and hugged him back.

"I'm glad you're still alive," Jack whispered in her ear.

Gwen couldn't help but cry, finally.

It was a relief for her; it had been a while since she was able to cry.

Not since Owen and Tosh died.

"You were great today, you know that?" Jack said. "Not many people would have done what you did today. Step into the belly of the beast and come back alive. Fighting, all the way to the end."

He laughed, grabbed her hand and escorted her to the SUV.

Gwen wiped away her tear and looked at Ianto, who curtly nodded as she approached him.

He wanted to pass her by, but Gwen wouldn't let him.

She hugged him, to Ianto's surprise.

He smiled and lovingly rubbed her shoulder.

"Thank you," Gwen said to Ianto.

"It's my job." Ianto smiled.

Now it was Jack who was waiting patiently for Gwen to step into the SUV.

Gwen glanced over Ianto's shoulder and saw the black motorcycle which had lit up the warehouse with its bright headlights not long ago.

"Where'd you get that?" Gwen asked. "I've never seen that before. Jack?"

"It's Ianto's, actually." Jack said as he stepped into the car and shut the door.

Ianto zipped up his vest and put on his helmet.

Gwen couldn't help but smile, seeing Ianto in such a funny outfit.

She had never expected to see him wearing something like that.

"I'll meet you back at the Hub," Ianto spoke as he turned his motorcycle around and raced away.

Gwen stepped into the car and shut the door behind her.

As she put on her safety-belt, Jack looked through the rear window to turn the SUV around.

Gravel crackled underneath the car's big tyres as the SUV slowly turned, then Jack pushed the pedal down and headed towards proper roads.

"You should call Rhys," Jack said as he glanced at Gwen.

"Apparently, he already called me first," Gwen said.

She'd already grabbed her phone from her pocket and read her unread messages.

"Then call him back," Jack said as he drove the car through a right bend in the road.

The roads were dark; the more they drove towards the centre of the city, the more cars they encountered on the road.

Gwen turned the phone over and over in her hand as a thought occurred to me.

"What would you have told Rhys if I had died here this night?" Gwen asked Jack.

It was dark in the car, except for a long, blue light.

Gwen's eyes hadn't adjusted that well since she had been gazing into the light screen of her mobile phone for a time.

Because of the darkness, she couldn't quite see Jack's reaction as well as she'd like to.

"Would you have retconned him?" Gwen asked.

"I wouldn't have retconned him," Jack spoke swiftly and almost annoyed.

"What would you have said?" Gwen asked. "What did you say to Toshiko's mother when she…"

Then she realised she was making a mistake, but she also knew it was too late to stop now.

"..when she died?"

"I…" Jack hesitated. "I didn't tell her anything."

"What?" Gwen spoke. "Jack, you can't just…"

"I haven't had time yet, all right? I was busy, saving you, saving the world…"

"She has a right to know!" Gwen spoke.

"All right!" Jack spoke, never letting his eyes wander away from the road. "Have it your way! I'll talk to her in the morning, is that fine by you?"

"That's…perfect," Gwen spoke uncomfortably.

"Good," Jack replied.

After that final word, neither of them dared to speak again for at least ten minutes.

Jack dropped Gwen off at her apartment; something Gwen hadn't expected, but she appreciated it still.

"You brought me home?" Gwen said, as she looked out of the front window and gazed up at her apartment.

"It's time we call it a night," Jack said. "It's been a long and terrifying day. You of all people deserve a good night's rest tonight."

He smiled at Gwen like his own self again, and she smiled back.

"Thank you, Jack." she replied. "And good night. I'll see you in the morning."

"Pleasant dreams…" Jack spoke before he closed his window and drove off into the dark night.

Gwen gazed up at her apartment and searched for the keys of her door in her pocket.

She was tired.

She was looking forward to climbing underneath the sheets next to Rhys in her warm bed, and just forget about death and sadness and Torchwood for just a few hours.

She clutched her sore, hurt throat and neck with one hand as she opened the door and climbed up the stairwell towards her apartment, not knowing that someone was waiting for her there.

Gwen Cooper Williams would find no rest in her apartment that night.


	5. Chapter 5

Gwen gazed at the keys in her hands, climbing the stairwell to her apartment door on her black heels.

"Rhys, I'm home!"

The lights in the other apartments were out.

Gwen's neighbours were probably already asleep.

Lucky them, Gwen thought to herself.

She was fiddling with a bunch of keys in her hand in search for the right one which could open her front door.

She stepped into the gloomy, grey half-lit hallway, before she gazed upon her apartment door, longing for her bed and her husband's warm hands around her.

She found the right key and placed it in the keyhole, before opening the door.

"Rhys?" she asked as she stepped into her apartment, wiping away a few strands of her hair from her sweaty forehead.

She unzipped and took off her jacket, not noticing the man who sat on the couch in the shadows.

He had been gazing at her ever since she stepped through that door.

"Gwen?" Rhys spoke as he entered the living room. "I've been calling you for hours…"

Gwen immediately put her hands around her husband and ran her hands through the back of his head, ruffling his hair.

"I missed you so much," she said to him, before she kissed him.

As their lips met, Rhys hesitantly returned Gwen's love with his own by returning her kiss.

"Gwen," he spoke.

Although he didn't see him, Rhys knew he was still sitting there in front of the television.

He sat there for hours now, in the darkness, awaiting Gwen's return.

Gwen kissed Rhys again, but this time he forced her to stop.

"Gwen, listen to me," he said to her, fearing what would happen next. "There's someone here to see you…"

"What?" she said, then she turned her gaze at the man who stood up from his seat.

The light of the television coloured his face in a purple shade.

"Rhys, who is this?" Gwen said, letting go of her husband.

The same strands of hair annoyingly stuck to her forehead again.

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Rhys was behaving nervously, and his hand was slightly shaking.

He kept standing close to Gwen as if he was afraid she might do something, but at the same time he kept a close eye on the man standing at the other side of the living room.

"Gwen, it's me," the stranger said.

"What?" Gwen asked confused.

She was not in the mood for this right now.

Her hand was searching for a gun she didn't carry; she left it in the car in the seat next to Jack.

"Gwen, you've got to believe me. It sounds silly and rather impossible, but its true."

Gwen looked from this stranger to Rhys, without saying a word, only gasping for breath.

"It's me," the stranger spoke. "Owen."

"Get out of my apartment!" Gwen suddenly yelled violently.

"Gwen, please hear him out," Rhys tried to say, but Gwen was filled with rage and she wouldn't listen to a word he was saying.

"GET OUT!" Gwen yelled. "I will call the police, you hear me?"

"Gwen, please," the stranger tried to say, as he slowly moved towards the door, evading the furniture and sofa as he walked in a circle around the enraged and troubled Gwen Cooper Williams. "Listen to me! I'm Owen Harper! I would've been twenty-nine years old if I hadn't got shot that day!"

"I have never seen you before in my life!" Gwen yelled.

"LISTEN TO ME!" the stranger yelled. "I need you to listen! I worked for Torchwood! I protected the world from aliens which came through the Rift! I died, but then I was resurrected by Jack!

"He used a Resurrection Glove! The Risen Mitten! I died, then I came back!

Then everything went bananas and I got locked inside a nuclear power plant!

The next thing I know I was stuck in a casket, about to be buried! I don't know how, I don't know why, but I'm still alive, stuck in somebody else's body! A dead body! Please, you've got to believe me!"

"NO," Gwen spoke.

"Gwen!" Owen yelled.

"NO WAY!" Gwen went on. "NO FUCKING WAY!"

"It's me!" Owen spoke. "I'm telling you, Gwen! Forget the face! Forget the voice! Forget the clothes! It's me underneath! Listen to my voice! Listen to my voice, Gwen! LISTEN!"

Rhys's hand touched Gwen's hand and she looked at her husband.

"It could be him, Gwen. Couldn't it?" he said to her. "I know it's unusual, but you've said so yourself: you've seen remarkable things since you've joined Torchwood.

Frightening, yet remarkable stuff…"

Gwen closed her eyes and intertwined fingers with Rhys; he held her tight and kissed her forehead.


	6. Chapter 6

Bright light blinded Owen's strange eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt and laid down on the metal table.

The light shined upon his pale, cold body, painting his grey skin white.

Gwen stood in the doorway, but did not gaze inside the autopsy-room, instead she gazed inside the Hub, where Rhys was waiting for her.

Ianto was neatly dressed in a black suit even as he examined Owen.

He too did not dare to look at Owen, or gaze into his eyes, but he checked Owen's pulse nonetheless, counting the heartbeats with his stopwatch.

"None," Ianto spoke, and he gazed at Jack.

He stood in the centre of the autopsy-room, gazing at Owen with his arms folded.

"He's dead," Ianto said.

"Then why am I still breathing?" Owen spoke and he sat upright on top of the metal table.

Gwen looked away again, and swallowed.

She repositioned her back against the white wall, but she was still not feeling quite right.

She could see Jack thinking, and she knew his thoughts weren't good.

Ianto joined Jack's side, but was still turning his back towards Owen.

"Ianto, look at me," Owen spoke. "It's me!"

Ianto still couldn't look at him.

The stranger who was buttoning his shirt at that moment, as he sat on the autopsy-table, was not Owen Harper.

He was taller than Owen Harper.

He was more handsome than Owen Harper.

His eyes were green and gray, and his hair was messy.

His shirt was wrinkled and old, and his shoes were falling apart.

"I am Owen Harper!" Owen spoke aggressive, filled with fear. "Why don't you believe me?"

Jack wouldn't say anything.

He was grinding his teeth and he was slightly sweating.

Owen then looked up at Gwen.

She knew he was watching her, she could feel his gaze pierce her, but she did not look back.

Tears filled her eyes as her heart was beating in her throat.

Then Gwen walked away from the autopsy-room, wiping the tears from her eyes.

She couldn't stand being there any longer.

"Jack," Owen spoke.

His voice was different. His pronunciation the same.

His body was strange, but it was giving familiar signals.

His eyes were glaring at Jack with the same vicious tenacity as Owen.

"JACK!" Owen yelled.

Jack looked away, finally.

Ianto stood in the background, but said nothing, as he read the patient's chart.

Jack unfolded his arms and sighed.

He stretched out his arm and pointed at Owen.

"Take him to the interrogation-room," Jack spoke.

Ianto didn't hesitate for one second to obey Jack's command.

"Jack!" Owen yelled, refusing to be put in a cell. "Jack, don't do this!"

Jack said nothing.

Then Ianto subtly pulled out a gun and Owen put his teeth together.

He raised his arms in the air and walked away, under Ianto's supervision.

Owen's new eyes never once glanced away from Jack, who was gazing solemnly at the white wall in front of him.

The night was growing older and the darkness grew darker.

The streets of Cardiff were empty at this dark and haunted hour of night. The city had finally fallen asleep, but underneath the ground at Roald Dahl Pass, Torchwood was wide awake.

"Ianto, you shot me, remember?" Owen said as he was forced to sit down in his chair. "Right here."

He pointed at his left shoulder.

"Not in this body, of course," he added. "But I remember it hurt like hell."

Ianto did not respond.

He walked towards the door and turned his back away from the man who called himself Owen Harper.

"Ianto! Look at me!" Owen cried. "I know we weren't the best of friends, or anything, but when push came to shove, I always knew I could rely on you. You always had my back covered. Always!"

Ianto hesitated to step through that door without looking at him once.

"Come on, Ianto!" Owen spoke. "Look at me! Listen to my voice! Recognise me!"

Ianto bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

He left the room and locked the door behind him.

Owen angrily pounded the table with his painless fist.


	7. Chapter 7

Gwen was crying.

Gwen almost tripped over her own feet as walked through the Hub's half-lit corridors.

Damp air filled her lungs and cold air touched her eyes.

Gwen hid herself in the debriefing-room and sat at the far end of the table, close to the door.

She tried to stop herself from crying, but she couldn't.

She could only wipe away the tears and cover her mouth, hoping that no-one could see her.

She did not hear the approaching footfalls, so she was startled when she saw Rhys walking clumsily through the doorway.

"Are you all right?" he asked her kindly.

Gwen sucked up her grief and sorrow and tried to act sober, but she failed miserably.

"No, I'm not," Gwen cried, and Rhys held her within his strong arms.

He was warm and kind and just what Gwen needed.

His tired eyes seemed to be filled with so much life, even at this time of night.

The city had fallen asleep above their heads, and no-one knew of the dark and disturbing secrets they had to live with in the Torchwood Hub.

"It could be him, couldn't it?" Rhys said to Gwen. "It could be Owen."

"Owen's dead, Rhys," Gwen spoke through her tears.

Rhys ended their hug so he could look in Gwen's eyes, but he never let go of her hands.

"You keep telling me about all those wonderful things you've seen, all those aliens and artefacts and objects, but could none of those things have done something to Owen, to transfer his consciousness from one body to another? Isn't there anything that could have saved him?"

Gwen couldn't help but cheer up, seeing that sparkle of innocent enthusiasm in Rhys' eyes.

"Couldn't it be possible? I mean…"

He still had that sense of wonder about him, that innocence and purity of spirit and soul.

At least that's what Gwen called it; that very same thing which she loved about him.

What was this, the second time he's been in the Hub?

After these long two years, the beautiful Hub and headquarters to Torchwood Cardiff no longer impress Gwen, but Gwen could see how Rhys was still impressed with everything.

She could see it in his eyes, as he looked around, trying to find the right words.

"What if this truly is a miracle?" Rhys spoke.

Gwen wiped away her tears and cleaned her running nose.

"Tell me if I'm talking complete bollocks here, Gwen!"

Gwen chuckled; Rhys felt misunderstood and mocked, but knew that her laugh was a good sign, so he continued.

"Everything could be fine," Rhys went on. "Everything will be fine."

The kind, round face Gwen had grown used to over the years still managed to surprise her, and touch her, and even persuade her, from time to time.

Rhys smiled and Gwen hugged him again.

As they held each other tight, Gwen's eyes filled with fear and doubt once more, knowing that Rhys could not see her face as they were holding each other.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget all the horrors which haunted her dreams at night, and the shadows which lurked inside the darkness, waiting to kill.

"But what if it isn't?" Gwen asked. "Rhys?"

Rhys turned pale, not knowing how to keep on reassuring his beautiful wife; how to keep on giving her hope and love, now when she needed it the most.

Rhys let go of Gwen again and lowered himself on to his knee.

"I don't know, Gwen," Rhys said. "All I know is, that when I saw him for the first time, as he entered our apartment, I just knew something wasn't right. When he told me who he was…when he gave me his name…it just made sense."

"Maybe you just want to believe that…" Gwen spoke.

"I do," Rhys spoke. "I do want to believe that, but it's just…

"Don't you have that sometimes? That feeling in your gut when you know something's right and what's not. You know that feeling? Well, I'm having it right now."

The way Rhys sat by Gwen's side reminded her of the moment when Rhys proposed to her.

He even held her hand in exactly the same way he did then.

"And if he does turn out to be a deadly alien," Rhys spoke, but then he hesitated.

He swallowed as he held her hand. "…then at least we've got Jack to save us from him, now don't we?"


	8. Chapter 8

Jack sat, pondering, in his chair as he watched the monitors, which showed the man who called himself Owen Harper sitting impatiently, and alone, in the interrogation-room.

"Jack!" Owen yelled. "I know you're there looking at me!"

Jack rubbed his chin, as he gazed upon the monitor with a frozen stare, seemingly untouched by the dead man's lonely cries.

"You can't just leave me in here!"

The monitor had no sound, but Jack could read his lips.

Ianto walked from station to station with a steady pace.

He had resumed his job as if nothing happened, but as he worked his eyes remained hollow and empty, like a robot who was simply obeying his programming.

Yet once in a while he looked into Jack's office, where he saw troubled Jack, who sat without moving once, without speaking ever, in his chair, gazing upon the monitors in his office.

Ianto wanted to comfort him, he wanted to show his support, but he knew that nothing would help.

Ianto could think of no wise words which could bring answers to this strange situation, not even a silly joke.

He printed a few files and delivered these at Jack's desk.

"Here are the files you requested," Ianto spoke as he dropped the papers subtly next to Jack's hand.

Then he stood behind Jack's chair and put his arms in the pockets of his black suit.

"Thank you, Ianto," Jack spoke absently.

Jack didn't even glance back, so Ianto merely nodded curtly, with a gentle smile, before he slowly left the room to resume his work.

Gwen and Rhys climbed down the metal stairwell together, and Gwen passed Ianto without glancing at him once.

She stampeded into Jack's office with red eyes, but Rhys did not follow her.

He smiled at Ianto, and Ianto smiled back; Ianto really started to like him now.

"Let me talk to him," Gwen said to Jack.

"No," Jack spoke calmly as he went through Ianto's files.

"I mean it, Jack," Gwen said, glancing at the yellow pages in Jack's hands. "I want to talk to him."

Rhys swallowed as he awaited the answer of the thousand year old, time-travelling, alien, soldier from the future Gwen had been telling him about ever since he found out about Torchwood.

"No," Jack spoke.

Ianto listened to their conversation as he continued his work.

He bend over Toshiko's old workstation, refusing to sit down in her chair, as he entered the Torchwood system and used it to look up Joseph's medical, criminal and personal files.

He never looked away from the huge monitor, or let his mind wander away from his fingers which touched the keyboard, until he glanced at Joseph's photograph.

His eyes looked straight at him and Ianto froze for a moment.

"Jack!" Gwen cried.

"No!" Jack yelled frustratingly as he stood up from his chair, clenching the yellow files within his hands. "And that's final!"

Jack sighed, before he walked past Gwen, towards the interrogation-room.

Rhys looked at Gwen with a supporting gaze, until he looked at Ianto, who stood behind him, working on the computer.

"Who's that?" Rhys asked as he glanced at the huge, blue monitor. "Is that him?"

Ianto's eyes were glistening in the lights as they slowly filled with tears.

He hid it from Rhys as he approached him.

Rhys leaned forward to read the entire page, whilst Ianto subtly backed away from him and let go of the computer's mouse.

He straightened his back and gently touched the back of Toshiko's old chair.

He was unable to say anything.


	9. Chapter 9

Owen gazed at the rusty, tiled wall in front of him.

He folded his fingers, which he couldn't feel, together in a prayer-like stance, as he nervously glanced at the cameras over and over again.

He was grinding his teeth, and his foot wouldn't stop trembling.

He touched his forehead, before he realized he was unable to sweat.

The heavy door opened and Captain Jack Harkness stepped inside the interrogation-room.

This room was the lowest part of the Torchwood Hub, apart from the holding-cells.

There was a strange silence in this room, like the entire world had stopped breathing, then Jack entered and air returned to the dusty room.

"Jack," Owen tried to say, but Jack raised his hand as a sign for him to stop.

Owen was annoyed, but he did as Jack requested and he remained silent.

"This is how we are going to play it," Jack spoke.

Owen's fingers were twitching.

His eyes glanced at the yellow files in Jack's hand.

"You're not Owen Harper, unless you can prove to me that you are."

"Guilty, until proven innocent," Owen replied.

"No," Jack spoke, and he subtly shook his head. "You're an enemy, until you prove me wrong."

From the moment Owen saw Jack entering the doorway, he wanted to crack a joke about Jack being either the 'good cop' or the 'bad cop', but he realized this was not the best time for a joke.

"If I am not convinced by the end," Jack went on as he slowly approached the chair opposite to Owen, by the table. "If I'm not satisfied when this is over..."

"You'll kill me?" Owen spoke. "Well, guess what? I'm already dead!"

Jack stopped for a moment to let Owen calm down.

"Then what?" Owen asked. "You're not _retconning_ me! You are not taking away the last three years of my life!"

Owen angrily looked up at Jack, until he saw the look in Jack's eyes.

He had seen it many times before.

"You don't recognise me," Owen spoke. "You really don't recognise it's me."

"No," Jack said.

The eyes Jack Harkness gazed into were eyes he had never seen before.

A stranger's eyes.

A stranger's face.

"You are not Owen Harper," Jack spoke.

"But what if I am?" Owen spoke. "What if I am, Jack? Aren't you even willing to believe in that possibility? Look at me! Listen to my voice! Jack, it's me!"

Jack closed his mouth and slowly raised his chin.

He threw the yellow files on the table by Owen's hands.

"What's this?" Owen asked as he gazed upon the files.

"It's you," Jack spoke. "Or at least it's your body."

Owen read the files, every single word of it, but it didn't affect him.

The words, although they referred to him, never once struck a chord.

"You're name's Joseph Milton," Jack said.

"No," Owen whispered as he continued reading the files.

"You're a 29-year old actor, turned criminal…" Jack continued.

"No," Owen spoke.

"…who spent the last five years in jail for fraud and robbery," Jack elaborated.

"This isn't me." Owen spoke.

"You're a liar, Joseph," Jack said.

"NO!" Owen spoke. "I'm Owen Harper!"

"Why are you trying to infiltrate Torchwood?" Jack asked, putting both hands on the table as he intimidated Owen by leaning closer.

"I'm not!" Owen said.

"Then why were you watching the Hub's exits for six hours on end? Yes, Joseph, our cameras saw you monitoring the Roald Dahl Pass the entire day, yesterday!"

"JACK!" Owen yelled.

"Tell me the truth, Joseph!" Jack yelled. "Why are you here?"

"I CAME HERE FOR HELP!!" Owen yelled.

"Who are you really, Joseph Milton? Human, or alien?"

"STOP IT, JACK!" Owen yelled. "STOP IT!"

"WHO ARE YOU?!" Jack yelled.

"MY NAME'S OWEN HARPER!!" Owen yelled and he stood up from his chair to face Jack.

They looked directly into each other's eyes.

"THIS!" Owen yelled as he touched his chest, and then his face.

He touched his cheeks with his nails, but he didn't feel anything.

"This isn't me!" he went on, without ever looking away from Jack.

"Not these cheeks! Not these eyes! Not this hair! Not this voice!"

Only Jack could feel his heart beating in his neck.

"Not these shoes!" Owen yelled, and he immediately started to untie them, take them off and throw them into the corner of the interrogation-room.

"NOT THESE PANTS! NOT THIS SWEATER! NOT THIS BODY!!"

He took off his clothes faster than he could speak.

Angrily he threw them into the corner, until he stood naked in front of Jack.

"THIS ISN'T ME!!" he cried out as he spread his arms.

If he could have cried, if he would have been able to shed tears, Owen would have done so, but instead he stood there unclothed, his pale body touched by the white light in the interrogation-room with cold eyes filled with rage and desperation.


	10. Chapter 10

"Jack!" Gwen shouted as the old man grabbed his blue coat and rushed past her.

Gen, Ianto and Rhys had been watching the monitors, and Jack's conversation with Joseph Milton, from the moment they saw Jack stepping inside the interrogation-room with the yellow files in his hands.

Ianto had found a way to turn on the audio, so they could listen.

What happened next none of them could have expected.

What happened next was nothing any of them wished for.

"Jack, wait!" Gwen yelled.

Rhys grabbed Gwen's hand, telling her not to follow him.

Gwen glanced only once at her husband, before she made her decision.

Rhys could read the regret in her eyes as her hand slipped from his and she followed Jack through the large, round, armoured door of the Hub.

"Gwen," Rhys whispered.

He could still feel the echo of her warmth against his shoulder.

Gwen had pressed his head into his shirt when Owen took off his clothes.

It was the last attempt of a desperate, angry man; it was humiliating and sad.

As Rhys gazed upon Gwen's back, as she rushed after Jack, Ianto smiled sadly, yet politely, as he put his hands in his pockets and looked away.

He glanced at the monitors, where he saw how Owen was putting on his clothes again, and again he looked away.

"I don't believe this…" Rhys muttered, not able to find the right words to express himself with. "I mean…"

His hands felt useless; his hair was itching.

He looked at Ianto and felt small compared to his nice, black suit.

Rhys hesitated before he dared to say anything, "So what do we do now?"

Ianto smiled, "Coffee?"

He tried to lighten the dark atmosphere in the room, but failed miserably.

His joke only confused Rhys.

"So it'll just be me then?"

* * *

"Jack!" Gwen yelled as he followed him through seemingly endless corridors and stairwells.

She finally found him, standing right where she thought he would be.

Gwen felt a chilly wind blowing in her face the second she stepped into the moonlight.

The dark city stretched out for miles, it seemed; the water in the harbour was perfectly black, except for the reflection of the pale and clouded moonlight.

"Jack?" she asked.

He stood there, with his head facing the wind.

His hair was slowly moving, because of the wind; his coat too danced in the cold wind.

Jack only glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

His face showed no emotion, except an ancient pain no-one could describe, except the immortal.

"JACK!" Gwen yelled.

Jack turned around.

He looked into her eyes and she looked into his, and Gwen saw the tears in his eyes.

His lip was trembling and his fists were strong.

Gwen looked at Jack and she couldn't help herself but let go of everything.

She collapsed in his mighty arms and cried as Jack put his arms around her.

He placed his head on her shoulder and together they mourned, together they cried, as starlight pierced the clouded sky.

"It's him," Gwen said.

"I know," Jack said, closing his eyes.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Owen spoke to the cameras. "for what I did just now."

He buttoned up his shirt again as he glanced at the table.

"I shouldn't have done that. I really shouldn't have."

He sighed, "It's just that, I've been so angry lately. At God, at Satan, at everyone, and I thought you would be the ones to understand. I really was stupid enough to think you'd recognise me, that you'd help me."

His voice was starting to crackle, and in his mind his eyes were starting to hurt him.

Still they refused to shed tears; not even one.

It angered him, but still he continued.

"It's funny, that after all these…"

Owen looked up at the ceiling as he tried to find the right words.

"Tragedies?" Owen spoke. "Dark times? Fuck-ups? Divine comedies? What's the right word? Well, never mind that…"

He now looked straight into the camera.

"After everything that has happened to me…" he went on. "I still--I still want to go back to my old life, and you know why? Because it's all I got! I've got nothing else!"

Then he suddenly smiled.

He was reminded of old times.

"Tosh, are you there?" he smiled. "Are you watching this? We've talked about this before, haven't we? I'm like a broken record sometimes, looping the same dark tune over and over again. Tosh?"

He hesitated to continue, as if he was waiting for some kind of sign.

But neither Ianto or Rhys would give him one, for both were speechless.

Their throats started turning sore, so Rhys swallowed and touched his neck with his hand.

Ianto looked away and hid his tears from Rhys Williams with a straight back.

He folded his arms and pretended he was still only listening to Owen's words.

"I never had a life, and now I'm dead!" Owen went on. "Stuck in another man's dead body!

"Hell spat me back out again, and now I'm here begging for scraps, begging for my old, miserable life!

"This is me, Owen Harper, fighting for the life he doesn't have! And I'm not giving up, you hear me, Jack! I'm not giving up!"

He slammed the table with his fist.

"You might not believe me," he said. "You want proof! Well, I'll give you proof!"

Owen stood up from his chair and walked towards the door.

He started typing his old password in the keypad which was embedded into the wall next to the door.

The heavy door opened with easy and Owen stormed out.

Ianto immediately grabbed his headset to contact Jack, who raced back towards the Hub, together with Gwen.

"Owen!" Jack yelled as he rushed towards the holding-cells, where Owen had ran away to.

Rhys and Ianto were already there.

They stood in the dark and gloomy, half-lit, damp corridor and they glanced at Jack and Gwen as they entered.

"Behold!" Owen yelled and he spread out his arms.

He stood at the centre of the corridor with a mighty smile upon his new face.

"The King of the Weevils!"

The Weevils backed away into the corners of their cells, silently howling and cowering away from the dead man who stood outside their cells.

Jack and Gwen glanced at each other; both were still catching their breaths from running really fast, back to the Hub.

"DO YOU BELIEVE ME NOW??" Owen asked.


	11. Chapter 11

Owen saw how his feet touched the ground, but he didn't feel it.

He was walking back into the main room of the Torchwood Hub with an uneasy, slow pace.

It was the same slow pace, that same hollow rhythm which haunted his mind two days ago.

He walked by the side of the highway, through the pouring rain, wearing the same suit he wore when he was laid down to rest in his casket earlier that day.

He had been trying to hitchhike to Cardiff, but not one car would stop for the stranger in the darkness, seen only when the lights of their headlights pierced the dark night.

The light would illuminate Owen for one full second, before the darkness would swallow Owen again, until he reached the next street light.

Owen was completely alone, with only the stars to accompany him through his darkest hour.

He would've yelled at the cars which drove past him, for with every car which ignored his cry for help his anger grew, but he never yelled.

His heart was cold and motionless, his passion had gone away, just like all hope had faded away into the dark sky.

Besides, even if he yelled at them, the drivers wouldn't have heard him.

The rain had touched his cold, dead skin, and it made the dark, black asphalt glimmer in the light of the street lights.

Owen still couldn't believe he had finally made it here.

He was here, in the Torchwood Hub, a place he once thought he would never see again, with friends who recognised him, who embraced him and accepted him again into their lives, as if those long, hard months of mourning had never happened.

As if he had never died.

* * *

He was in another man's body now, and it was his body they embraced.

It was his body they saw, they touched and kissed, and Owen never felt a thing.

Not the warmth of their hearts, or the tenderness of their touch.

His dead skin felt nothing.

If he closed his eyes he could picture a vast, endless darkness and a voice, searching for him.

He would've screamed if he had a voice, but that too had been taken from him.

"I missed you," Gwen whispered into the stranger's ears. "I missed you so much."

And all Owen could feel was the darkness.

He felt like he was under water, like he was drowning, slowly descending into a vast, bottomless lake.

If he looked up he could see the sunlight touch the water's surface, but as he sank lower and lower the light slowly faded away.

* * *

Drenched, soaked by the rain, Owen had finally stepped into a stranger's car, a benevolent man who was willing to offer him a lift.

"Dreadful weather, don't you agree?" the driver spoke amused, as he tried to start a conversation.

He spoke to Joseph, not to Owen.

The man spoke of the weather, then of his family and his friends, his job, his life, and Owen gazed outside at the road, with hollow eyes.

The driver spoke of things, such ordinary things, which somehow didn't affect Owen anymore as it did before.

Those simple words which everyone knew and recognised, ordinary words which are common in the lives of every living soul, they now passed Owen by like a car speeding past a graveyard, without looking at the site once to think about all those lives which had been lost, all those people's final resting places.

As the water dripped from his nose, he pretended to smile at the driver's jokes, but inside he was cold, and he did not feel a thing.

He did not feel happy, nor sad, nor violent or sick.

He felt nothing.

"So, where are you headed?" the driver asked Joseph.

"Home," Owen said.

* * *

Rhys smiled when Ianto hugged Owen as well.

Jack couldn't help but smile as well as he stood by the entrance of the cells with his arms folded.

Owen glanced at him, but said nothing.

He looked away and his eyes caught his own reflection, reflected in a glass wall.

It was but a shadow, a dark silhouette, but Owen saw Joseph staring right at him.

* * *

The sky was grey when Owen stood by the payphone, clutching a few pennies in his hands which he had spent hours trying to find in the streets.

He noticed his hands were strange, and the wound had mysteriously healed.

Also, he had no idea how he had come to be at the place he was now.

How the hell did he end up in that casket?

And who were all those people surrounding him?

Owen had no idea.

All he knew he had to call Jack to have him pick him up fast.

"This is the police, how can I help you?" a kind woman spoke on the other end of the line.

"My name's Owen Harper and I want you to connect me through to Torchwood."

The woman was surprised, just like Owen had expected her to be.

"Sir," she spoke. "prank calls are illegal and I'm afraid I'm going to have to…"

"No, no, no!" Owen said. "I'm serious. Contact Captain Jack Harkness. He'll know who I am. Owen Harper! My name's Owen Harper"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but…" the woman said.

She didn't believe him.

"Listen, woman," Owen said, before he looked around him.

A man was standing behind him, waiting to use the phone as well.

Cars were passing by in the busy street filled with late shoppers, and the streetlights were suddenly turned on as dusk grew darker.

"I'm with Torchwood," Owen spoke and he started whispering so the man who stood behind him couldn't overhear his words. "Owen Harper. Authorization code 4Y1/A76…."

He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow; he had forgotten the rest of his code.

Why did he have to forget his code?

Why now?

"/696…" Owen stammered, but he could not remember the rest.

"Look! Just tell Jack who I am! He'll know who I am! Please…don't make my beg!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but your authorization code doesn't check out," the woman spoke. "I'm going to have to report you."

"Good!" Owen spoke angrily. "Fine! As long as you contact Jack Harkness! That's all I'm asking of you, dear! Please, listen to me!"

Then his call was cut off mid-sentence, because he ran out of money.

Owen slammed the horn against the payphone, dropping the last few pennies he had scavenged off the sidewalk in his rage.

The man who stood behind him swiftly convinced Owen to stop, for he desperately needed to make a phone call as well.

"Yeah, fine," Owen said to the man. "Make your fucking phone-call."

Owen stepped away from the phone, disorientated and filled with rage.

He stood in the streets with absolutely no idea what to do next, except to watch the sun go down.

However, even that was taken from Owen was dark clouds started to gather above him.

As slowly the raindrops started plummeting towards the ground, Owen glanced at his own reflection in a shop's window.

He saw his strange suit, realising it was very expensive and quite nice, before realising this had been the suit he had been buried with.

The thought of being buried alive, to claw one's way out of the darkness and towards the light, as you are chocked by a mountain of dust and earth, was unsettling and depressing.

As the rain grew in strength, Owen saw how the man by the payphone quickly ended his phone-call and started to run for safety, only Owen did not move.

He gazed at his reflection in the shop's window, and he slowly moved towards it as if he did not believe his own eyes.

He walked stiff and wooden, like a zombie, analyzing the movements of his mirror image with his eyes, and sadly realising they were the same.

If lightning had struck him then and there, it would've changed nothing.

Owen touched Joseph's face and yelled.

And the rain became his tears, for the dead man could not weep.

The darkness had taken them away from him.

* * *

Owen was home again, and at that moment he felt happier than he had been for a long while.

He glanced around the Hub, unable to spot what he was looking for.

He hesitated to ask, for somehow he knew what the answer would be.

Yet he didn't want to believe what his instincts were telling him.

Again, he searched for what he could not find.

Then he closed his mouth, paused, and finally he gazed at Jack.

"Where's Tosh?" Owen asked.

The room fell silent.


	12. Chapter 12

Ianto carried the cardboard box with an utmost respect, as if he was cradling the holy remnants of an ancient artefact in his hands, instead of the old clothes and buried belongings of a certain man called Owen Harper.

He had this quirky, chipper gleam upon his face, a smile of happiness which made him seem much more than content.

He seemed convinced that everything was going to be all right.

But Gwen felt nothing of the sort.

She felt disturbed, tired and afraid; her gut feeling was telling her this had only just begun.

"Are you all right?" Rhys asked as he looked down upon the woman who sat in the sofa.

Gwen wondered how many times he had already asked her this.

"Of course, telling me you're not all right would be an understatement, now wouldn't it?" Rhys said. "So, come to think of it, it's kind of a stupid question…"

Gwen smiled at Rhys through all of her many tears.

"-but I'm going to ask it anyway." Rhys added. "Are you all right?"

Gwen put her hand on Rhys' hand, which he used to lean upon the short, ancient brown sofa.

"I'm fine," she said smiling.

Rhys saw the giant letters of the word 'TORCHWOOD' on the white, dirty, brick wall behind Gwen and the sofa.

They seemed so ancient: the paint seemed to be absorbed by the stones.

"I thought you'd be happy," Rhys said. "Owen's back and all."

"I am happy!" Gwen said softly.

"I've seen you happier," Rhys said. "I thought you and Owen were close."

Gwen hesitated, and for a split second she felt as if her voice had been taken away from her.

"We…" she spoke. "We were."

"We were close." she repeated. "We were teammates. We were colleagues. We were friends!"

Rhys' big eyes were trembling, but he remained strong and kind.

"And he's back now," he said. "And here we are."

Rhys looked around the Hub, slightly exaggerated.

The dark chamber seemed so massive, yet Gwen had already seen everything it had to offer.

Every single corner, every single shadow, every single wall and every single secret.

She touched the brown sofa she sat on with her fingers, and she wondered how many times she had sat here before, in that exact same spot.

Her favourite spot.

"You could find more cheer in a graveyard!" Rhys said. "Shouldn't we be celebrating, instead of sitting here in the dark? I say we go the pub, all of us, and have a laugh."

"Owen can't drink," Gwen said.

"We'll ask Jack to be our designated driver!" Rhys replied enthusiastically, seeing his plan unfold in front of his eyes.

"Or we'll walk!"

"Seriously," Gwen spoke as she looked into Rhys' eyes. "Owen can't drink. He's dead, so his organs won't digest any drinks, or food."

"Bloody hell," Rhys said as he scratched the back of his neck.

Then he swallowed.

"Rhys," Gwen said at her husband as she stood up from the sofa. "It's a great plan and all, but I think it's a little late for a drink. You may have noticed it's two hours past midnight."

"Oh," Rhys gasped.

He had forgotten what time it was.

He wasn't tired at all.

"The pubs will all be closed by the time we get there." Gwen said. "And besides…"

She walked past her husband, without taking her eyes off him.

"I want to stay here and help Owen." she finished. "He needs me."

She finally turned her head around and walked away.

She left Rhys standing by the sofa.

He had wanted to kiss her, but she didn't know that.

He swallowed and bowed his head.

Slowly he began to realise that what he had refused to believe had been true all along.


	13. Chapter 13

Toshiko's chair was nice.

It probably would've felt really soft if Owen still had working nerves, but when he touched the chair this time he did not feel anything.

His face was turned away from the light and covered in shadow.

His lips and curled brow revealed he was lost in thoughts.

Owen touched the ground with his shoes; he pushed to make the chair slightly go round, but then halfway he turned back again.

His fingers touched the keyboard and slowly brushed against every single keypad and button.

He could feel eyes pierce the back of his head, but he ignored his instinct and let the predators wait.

After making Death himself wait, Owen felt it hard to see anyone else as a real challenge.

"Owen?" the shadow spoke.

Owen heard her, but at the same time he didn't.

It was like she was an echo in a dark tunnel, soft and almost unnoticeable in the strong, loud winds which roared through it.

Owen was lost in thoughts, haunted by the image of a human-shaped white sheet laying on a metal drawer.

The monitor was waiting for a command.

The background was one, big, animated, blue strands of intertwining codes, designed by Toshiko herself.

Owen was pouting his lips as he gazed into the darkness.

The voice spoke again, but Owen did not listen.

Still the unseen image haunted his mind, but he had no idea why.

He was a doctor.

He had seen many cold corpses spread out on his operating table.

He could still feel the sticky, cold, white gloves on his hands if he closed his eyes, and the nurse standing by his side, waiting for an order.

This face was no different than all the others.

Cold, grey and emotionless, and with her eyes closed.

There was nothing special about this corpse.

Nothing.

Even the smell had always been the same.

The scent of death.

Owen sniffed, but did not smell anything.

He gently touched his nose.

The voice spoke again, only this time he heard it.

"Do you want to talk?" Gwen asked, not knowing what else to say.

She slightly shrugged, but her wet eyes told a different story.

Owen laughed.

"Talk is pretty much the only thing I can do these days," Owen said.

He hid his pains behind his sarcasm and his smile, but he underestimated Gwen.

"Don't be like that," Gwen said.

"Well, how do you want me to be, Gwen?" Owen snapped, but then he quickly realised his error and sighed.

He looked away, and Gwen recognised his uneasy apology.

He played with one of the buttons on Toshiko's keyboard, using only one finger.

A finger which wasn't even his own.

Toshiko's fingers used to tap on these buttons, swiftly and accurately, brilliantly, as if she was not typing, but dancing.

God, there were so many things Owen already started missing about her.

Her smile, her glasses, and her shyness whenever they were alone in a room together, that uneasy kindness Owen took a while to decipher, but ages to return.

They had never went on that date together, Owen remembered, and now they never will.

"Why didn't she tell me?" Owen asked.

He asked Gwen why, but in his mind he already realised the truth.

"Would you have told her if your roles had been reversed?" Gwen asked.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the enclosed room inside that nuclear power plant; the room where he left his old body behind.

Owen looked at Gwen as he took his hand off the keyboard.

"Why are you here, Gwen?" Owen said. "No, really."

"Stop it, Owen." Gwen said. "You're always doing this!"

"I always do what?" Owen asked.

"Don't do this, please," Gwen said. "Don't be like this."

"Like what?" Owen asked and he stood up from his chair and started to raise the volume of his voice. "Like this? You know what, Gwen? I have every right to be like this!"

"I know," Gwen tried to say, but Owen didn't listen. "I'm sorry,"

"If there's anyone who deserves to be like this, right now, it's me!"

"I'm only trying to help!" Gwen said.

"Of course you are!" Owen said. "I'm the dead man! I'm the man of glass!"

He showed Gwen one of his dead hands.

"Everyone should be worrying about me!"

Gwen didn't mean to make him angry.

"I'm the man stuck in another man's dead body! D'you know what this man is?"

He pointed at himself.

"This man is possessed! He is possessed by a demon. A demon named Owen Harper!"

"Owen..."

"Owen Harper nicked his corpse, and now he's living in it!"

Owen seemed to calm down, but his eyes, Joseph's eyes, were big and full of spirit.

"I'm an alien in another man's body," he continued. "It may not be the best way of living, but I don't have a choice."

He started to raise his voice again as anger took over.

"Don't you get it, Gwen?" he shouted. "I get to live forever, corpse by corpse, until the end of time!"

"STOP SCREAMING!!" Gwen yelled.

"NO, I WON'T!" Owen yelled back.

He'd rage his way into oblivion if he had to.

Owen finally calmed down as his thoughts returned him to a place of light, and a room with no exits.

"I just don't understand…" he whispered. "I really don't…"

Gwen waited patiently, knowing this was just what Owen needed: someone to talk to.

"Why I survived and Tosh had to die," he spoke.

"I just don't see it…"


	14. Chapter 14

The metal drawer opened smoothly.

It clicked into place with a hollow, metal sound, which echoed through the white mortuary.

Ianto watched how Owen slowly approached the still person underneath the white sheet, who lay motionless on the metal drawer.

The mortuary was strangely quiet, except for the echoes of Owen's soft footfalls as he touched the metal floor.

It was like everyone held their breath, like they feared to breathe as breathless Owen approached the white sheet.

Owen's dead fingers touched the freezing, cold, metal drawer.

His face was cold and serious, yet they all knew him well enough to understand Owen was terrified.

Mortified.

They could not speak without their breath, so Owen gathered his courage and subtly nodded towards Jack.

He gazed deep into Owen's eyes, for one full second, to make sure.

And he was.

Ianto looked away when Jack pulled away the white sheet.

He remembered how she was when she was still alive.

She had been kind, smart and dedicated.

She had been very quiet and very sad, yet at the same time so very funny.

And so selfless, he remembered, so full of love.

And Owen never saw it.

He never saw how much she loved him.

Owen gazed at Toshiko's frozen face.

She was lying there, cold and silent, so serene and calm.

She almost seemed to be smiling as she lay there, seemingly asleep if it weren't for the awfully pale colour of her skin, and the bullet-hole in her chest.

Owen almost raised his hand to touch his own bullet-hole, his own fatal wound, then he remembered he was in a different body, and his body had died as well.

His face never changed.

Gwen couldn't stop herself from crying again, but she was determined to stay at Owen's side.

Nevertheless, she had to look away from her best friend's dead body, and she even took a step back from the metal drawer.

Jack was silent, as he always was, his presence intimidating and powerful and his eyes terrifying and loving at the same time.

His beautiful, ancient eyes pierced right through Owen, but Owen did not look back.

"Could you give me a second?" Owen asked.

Ianto nodded.

Gwen touched Owen's shoulder before she turned away and walked past Ianto, towards the exit.

Then Jack followed slowly, his jaw was tightly shut, his eyes full of understanding, sadness and trust.

As Jack turned his back on Owen, Owen bowed over Toshiko's body and shadow touched Jack's face.

Ianto could see the captain's eyes well up, although he tried to act cool and strong, which Ianto knew was his usual act.

As Jack passed Ianto, Ianto pinched his sleeve to grab his attention.

Jack looked at Ianto, but Ianto merely gazed deeply into his eyes.

The Captain smiled and nodded, before he walked on.

Ianto finally turned away from the mortuary to leave Owen alone.

He joined Gwen, who stood with her back against the wall, around the corner of the mortuary.

He stood close beside her and he placed his back against the wall like she did.

He could feel his arm touch Gwen's, and by her reaction he knew she felt it too.

Gwen smiled gently at Ianto: Ianto smiled too.

Another act, Ianto noticed.

Ianto bowed his head as he imagined how Owen bids farewell to Toshiko.

He too had paid his last respects to her, before he enclosed her into the mortuary.

That was the last time she saw her.

He had never visited her again.

Now Owen had returned from death.

He survived in some miraculous way.

He came back and Tosh didn't.

She's still in there.

But Ianto didn't dare to visit her again.

Just like he dreaded the prospect of visiting Lisa again.

For a long time he had nightmares about her cold, dead, metal hand reaching from beyond her metal casket, and no-one had ever known.

He never showed his fears to the others.

He did his duty, the duty which he wanted to have, the duty which Jack had hired him to do, and he did it without questioning and without protest.

Sometimes he thought of it as the best job in the world.

Sometimes he thought of it as the punishment he deserved.

Thinking of the place Owen had returned from, Ianto couldn't help but think of Lisa, and the place she would now be.

Heaven.

Hell.

He didn't care which.

All he wanted to know was whether she was waiting for him…

He gazed at Jack, the constant factor in his life which kept him going, the mysterious, swashbuckling captain with a golden smile who made Ianto's dark life worthwhile as he waited to rejoin Lisa in that dark place of rest or reaping; Ianto didn't care which.

He didn't want to know.

Owen returned from the mortuary, without glancing once at his team-mates and Captain.

He reached for his possessions and clothes.

He took off his gritty, vest and put on his clothes and shoes, and Ianto saw he even put the old, broken Rolex watch on his wrist again.

"Going somewhere?" Jack asked loudly.

Gwen also eagerly wanted to know why he was abandoning them.

"I'm going out," Owen said as he looked at Jack. "Not for some fresh air, since I know I can't breathe, but I just need to be alone for a while."

He turned his back on his team-mates, although he did hesitate and glance back once, but no-one knew what to say.

Finally, Jack allowed Owen to leave, and a strange hollow silence filled the Hub.

Ianto abandoned this awkward silence, substituting it for his own, and he returned to the mortuary, where he found Toshiko just where Owen had left her.

He feared approaching her, but his feet never hesitated once.

He gazed upon sleeping Toshiko and the white mortuary, and he ran his hands through her cold strands of dark hair.

He smiled, before he kissed her forehead and gently placed the white sheet over her head again.

Then he pushed the metal drawer back into its place, and he sighed as the hollow metal noise echoed through the mortuary.

And then he smiled.

Jack smiled at Ianto as he stood in the mortuary's doorway with folded arms, beckoning Ianto to follow him using only his big smile and charming eyes.

Ianto smiled back, even happier then a moment ago, and Jack turned around and headed to his office where he'd wait for Ianto.

Ianto hesitated however, as he saw something move in the corner of his eyes.

It was but his shadow which scared Ianto for a moment, and he smiled at his own silliness.

However, when he looked upon the mortuary for a second time, he couldn't help but wonder:

When would he be lying in there?

Cold and frozen in the darkness of the metal drawer, his face covered by a stainless, white sheet?

And Jack would stand there, like he did now and gaze upon his final resting place.

And he would never visit him again.

Would he really?

Would Jack never visit him again?

Would he forget about him, like he had Lisa, and soon Toshiko?

Would he move on, just as easily?

And now Owen was immortal as well, living from donor-body to donor-body, until the mysterious energy would finally fade away into the darkness.

But what would happen to him?

Poor, little Ianto?

Ianto gazed upon his own shadow again, and he whispered to himself:

'We are but passing shadows in the end, and they are the candles which light up our lives, but cast shadows upon our faces. We will fade away into the darkness, but they will shine on forever…"

Ianto gazed up, in awe of his own poetic abilities, which seemed so ominously accurate.

For a moment he felt he could never feel happy ever again.

"They are candles," Ianto mused. "They are fire."

He bowed his head, and a shadow was cast upon his face.

"Get too close and you'll get burnt."


	15. Chapter 15

Gwen was too tired to even feel glad to be home.

As she ran her hands through her hair her eyes refocused on the dark apartment.

Rhys also yawned and scratched his bum as he closed the door behind him.

Gwen gazed upon her home, feeling she hadn't returned here in a million years.

Everything had been just the same as they left it earlier that day, the dirty dishes still hadn't been touched, the television had been left on stand-by, since they forgot to turn it off, and the vase of dead flowers on the table had still not been thrown away; Rhys had promised to do this, but a certain visitor had kind of messed up their schedule.

Gwen could still picture how she saw him for the first time, sitting in the sofa, watching television.

The stranger, who she now saw as a friend; a face she had never seen before now haunted her mind.

Rhys fiddled with a bunch of keys in his hands as he locked the apartment's door.

He yawned again; once he had started yawning, he was unable to stop.

His eyes were so tired they were starting to hurt him.

The lights of the apartment were dim, but still too bright.

"God, I'm tired," Rhys said, after he was done yawning. "If I go to sleep now, I'm afraid I'll never wake up."

Gwen stood in the living-room of her own apartment, frozen and unable to feel anything.

She had past the state of weariness, now she was hollow inside, dark, like a bottomless pit.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to start living.

"Oh, no," Rhys remembered. "I have to get up early in the morning as well."

Gwen couldn't believe Rhys could still think of tomorrow, work and normal life.

Suddenly Gwen remembered her own hunger; she hadn't eaten in hours.

She settled for a glass of water.

"I'll leave a message on Janice's voicemail, telling her I'll be arriving a bit late." Rhys continued as he picked up the phone and started dialling. "That business-meeting will have to wait."

He watched how Gwen took off her jacket and threw it upon the back of the sofa.

She staggered into her bed-room and evaded the lingering shoes she had once left there on the ground.

She cursed herself for not cleaning up after herself.

"Hello, Janice," Rhys spoke into the phone. "It's me, Rhys…"

Gwen sat down in bed and took off her shoes, which she then threw carelessly into a corner.

She brushed her black hair out of her face and sighed.

She took a last zip from her glass of water and set it down on her nightstand.

Rhys gazed at Gwen and swallowed as he placed the phone against his ear again.

"On second thought," he spoke. "Janice, I think I won't be coming to work at all tomorrow. No, I don't think I'm feeling that good, really…"

The sheet underneath her fingertips felt cold, but in a good way.

Fresh and untouched and clean, like a white, untouched canvas, awaiting the touch of a painter's brush.

Rhys finally ended the conversation and walked into the bedroom with a heavy stride.

Rhys felt the urge again to ask Gwen if she was all right, but he restrained himself and restricted himself to neutral, loving words.

"Let's go to sleep, Gwen," Rhys said. "Rest."

He brushed his hand lovingly against her cheek, and Gwen accepted his love and returned it by smiling subtly.

Rhys took off his shirt and shoes and climbed underneath the covers, placing his head in the comfy, large cushion.

Gwen mimicked him, but she gazed at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

She couldn't stop thinking of the dead man who roamed the streets somewhere, thinking of everything he's ever loved and lost.

Rhys waited patiently.

The rhythm of his breathing aligned with the rhythm of the night, and everything turned calm, soft and silent, until their breathing was the loudest sound in the room.

"You're thinking of Owen, aren't you?" Rhys asked.

Gwen almost gasped for air and her mind simply crashed, making her unable to answer.

"You can tell me," Rhys said. "I understand, I really do."

Gwen still hesitated.

She couldn't look away from the ceiling; she couldn't look at Rhys.

"He's out there somewhere," Gwen said to the darkness.

"Owen's a big boy, Gwen," Rhys said. "He can take care of himself."

Gwen sighed.

"And if something does happen to him, he'll _reincarnate_, now won't he?"

"Rhys!" Gwen spoke.

She felt you couldn't make jokes about this sort of thing.

"Sorry," Rhys said softly. "But it's true, isn't it?"

Gwen couldn't help but agree.

"If he wants our help, he'll ask us," Rhys said. "He did before."

The sheets were warming up by their body-heat, and Gwen was finally becoming comfortable.

She re-arranged her position and stretched her back before she finally settled on lying on her right side, facing away from Rhys.

"I hope so." Gwen finally said, before she finally closed her eyes.

Rhys listened to her breathing, and after a while he realised she must finally be falling asleep, slowly.

He sighed.

When the shadows had finally fallen asleep as well, Rhys had the courage to whisper to his sleeping beauty.

"You sleep," Rhys whispered. "You've earned it."

He brushed her hair softly, not to disturb her sleep.

Rhys gazed at the ceiling and thought of all the things Gwen had told him about, all the things he has seen with his own eyes.

There was a world out there, so different than what he had thought, so similar to what he had dreamed about; a child's dreams.

He finally began to understand why Gwen was there, why she joined Team Torchwood, and why she joined Captain Jack Harkness.

Stuff of legend.

Beautiful stuff; stuff of dreams, stuff of destiny.

"Go ahead and dream," Rhys whispered to his sleeping beauty. "Dream of alien worlds, unbelievable artefacts, monsters and heroes. Go save the world."

He sighed.

"When you wake up," Rhys said. "I'll be here, dreaming of you."

He closed his eyes.

"Just you."


	16. Chapter 16

The monstrous Weevils scurried away and fled into the shadows of the night.

Cardiff was almost fast asleep.

The sleeping city was only stirred by the demons and the insomniacs, which almost always stayed away from the pale lights.

A lone car drove through the dark streets once or twice.

Drunk friends spit on drunk bums as they finally decided to head home, staggering through the shadows as the eyes of demons lingered on their backs.

Moonlight reflected upon the dark, still water, and there was no wind.

Just the last, ghastly breaths of the darkness, before it would fade away into sunlight again when dawn arrived with the beginning of the new day.

However, the night had not ended just yet.

The thing which wandered the streets this dark night was a forgotten friend.

He had roamed the streets of this city before; the corridors of this dark maze.

Although the city had forgotten about him, he knew every corner, every forgotten place, every shadow he had befriended.

This ghost, this empty, shell of a man, this hollow thing, which carried the shadow of two men who were not supposed to be alive.

Its screams echoed unnoticed through the darkness, its blood, spilled for its survival, was ignored.

He stood in the middle of the road, bathing in pale light, looking up at the cloudless night, and the white moon's howling image, who looked down upon him.

And Owen did not know whether it was laughing.

Here he stood, right where he had started in the first place.

He wasn't fine, and only this time, everybody knew.

A public secret, whispered by the shadows behind his back.

He had ended up in the beginning again, only this time wiser and angrier, knowing that kicking and screaming would only speed his descent into the invisible quicksand.

Had returning to Torchwood been a mistake?

Was he a fool to believe he could find answers there?

Instead, he found more sadness, more questions, and more darkness.

It wouldn't end.

It would never leave him alone.

The curse, which doomed him to kill everyone he touches, everyone he would ever dare to love.

His lower lip was trembling.

His face was covered in shadow as the pale light of a streetlight touched his back.

A car drove past Owen, who stood motionless in the middle of the street.

Owen didn't even glance at the driver when he evaded him uneasily.

The car's engine roared through the night, but the city remained fast asleep.

Owen was unable to close his eyes.

Whenever he closed his eyes he could see nothing but bright, blinding lights which engulfed him, and he heard a deadly whisper in his ears, which he begged would stop.

The whispers held words, hidden words, which Owen never wanted to hear ever again.

He gazed at his hand, and curled his fingers slowly.

The lines and wrinkles written in the palm of his hand he had never seen before.

The marks, veins, hairs, spots and bones all belonged to another man.

He had stolen it, entered it, without the owner's permission, without his knowledge or consent.

For all he knew, he could have been the one to kill him.

Maybe his presence alone, when he attached himself to him, could have killed Joseph Milton.

Unconsciously, he forced himself upon another living being and ripped his soul from his body.

Owen could never live with himself if that would be true.

He would be no better than the aliens he had been fighting to protect the Earth.

For all he knew Jack was absolutely right in imprisoning him in that cell.

Owen remembered how he screamed at Jack, yelled at him and threatened him.

Had that been the way in which he had tried to convince Jack that he was human?

He acted no different than a Weevil, and he felt no different too.

There was so much anger inside of him, so much rage.

They were monstrous aliens, dressed in human clothes; could Owen not be exactly the same?

He made a fist out of his hand and grinded his teeth together, clenching his jaws shut.

He would've screamed if his voice had been able to.

He would've killed someone if anyone had been nearby.

His rage was interrupted suddenly, as something emerged from the shadows.

Owen was startled to see it approach him.

He blinked over and over again, believing his eyes to be out of focus, as he tried to look at the little silhouetted shape which walked towards him, cradling something in her hands.

It was a little girl, her face covered in shadow.

The street light blinded Owen.

If he had a heart it would've pounded in his chest.

If he had lungs he would be breathing heavily.

Instead, he stood there frozen, waiting for lightning to strike him.

Yet there were no clouds, no storm above his head and no rain.

Just the moon, who reflected the light of the sun at the back of Owen's head.

The little girl tread towards him with slow steps, and slowly a feeling inside Owen was giving him bad omens about her.

Something wasn't right; it never had been.

The little girl stopped in front of him, and although Owen couldn't see her face he knew she was gazing right at him.

"Who are you?" Owen asked. "You're not supposed to be up this late."

Owen looked around him, but the street was dark and empty.

"Where are your parents?" Owen asked. "Do they know you're here?"

The little girl chuckled.

"You're funny, " she said lightly.

In her hands she cradled a mysterious deck of cards.

Owen watched how the girl sat down on the cold asphalt.

The pale streetlight finally revealed her face: she really was just a kid.

Her face was pale, her eyes were mysterious, glistening with some unknown wisdom or power.

"Who are you?" Owen asked, before realising he was asking the wrong question.

"I can help you," the little girl stated simply as she shuffled the deck of cards in her small hands.

She shuffled it with such ease and grace and speed, as if she was an expert, as if she had done it a million times before, as if the cards simply obeyed her will and not her touch, as if she was not just a little girl.

No, she was more than that.

"Leave me alone," Owen spoke terrified.

The little girl terrified him more than every single deadly alien he had encountered before.

For he knew what was coming.

He knew what was about to happen.

He could feel it.

"You have questions," the little girl spoke to Owen, who had turned her back on her.

Yet he stood motionless, two paces away from her, unable to take another step.

"The cards can answer your questions."

The little girl stopped shuffling and placed on card, with its back turned upwards, on the asphalt in front of her.

She sat there, happily, as if she was playing a child's game.

In his mind, Owen imagined her humming, but in reality, she was creepily silent, as she sat there in the pale light.

Then she took another card and placed it on the ground in front of her.

And another.

And then she waited.

"Don't you want to know?"

The future.

"Do I want to know?" Owen asked himself as he gazed upon the little girl, and the cards which she had placed on the ground.

There was a strange motif painted on the backs of the mysterious cards, which Owen could barely see as light reflected on the plastic backs of the cards.

Tonight, Owen could see nothing but darkness.

He had sunk deeper than he had ever imagined himself doing.

He had once thought he couldn't sink any deeper, but he had.

The little girl pierced Owen with her alien eyes, hidden by the shadow.

Owen hesitated to answer.

Then the little girl leaned forward to pick up the cards…

Owen yelled. "Don't touch them!"

He had surprised even himself.

The little girl's hand was trembling, and she leaned back.

Owen looked back and forth, from the cards to the little girl and back again.

He needed a moment to complete the puzzle in his mind.

He needed to be sure.

The cards on the ground were beckoning him.

It was so hard to resist.

"No," Owen said.

He had lost everything.

His fiancée, his love, his friend, and his body.

Everything.

EVERYTHING!

He would not let her take away his freedom as well!

His free will!

His future!

"The future is mine to decide," Owen said.

The little girl looked straight into his eyes.

"Fuck destiny. I make my own life, no matter how long it'll take."

"Even if you will live forever?" the little girl asked.

Owen hesitated.

"Even if I live forever," he spoke.

The little girl took the cards from the floor, and Owen watched how she perfectly placed them on top of the deck of cards, without looking at them once, and without revealing them to Owen once.

The little girl smiled at Owen before she turned around and walked away.

She left the light and later faded away into the shadows, leaving Owen alone in the darkness, wondering if he's made the right decision…


	17. Chapter 17

Something was moving him, nudging him closer towards the edge, bit by bit.

Owen could not feel it, but it was there, pushing him softly.

And there was a voice.

Everything was blurry, but there was definitely a voice.

Owen yawned as he awoke slowly; sunlight reflected in water, directly into his face.

Besides the giant, blurry, beautiful reflection of the sun on the water, there seemed to be a dark stain upon the surface; shadows underneath the surface which no-one paid attention to, which no-one ever saw, except for Owen Harper.

The voice was breathing heavily.

It was the voice of a man, an old man.

Owen looked away from the bright rising sun, which had managed to crawl beyond the horizon and resumed his route to the highest point in the sky.

The orange colour slowly faded away from the sky as dawn faded into day.

"Bloody hell!" Owen could hear the old man say. "Bloody hell!"

Owen rubbed his eyes.

He had fallen asleep on a small, uncomfortable metal bench by the water when the night was at its darkest hour.

Now the seagulls were singing to him and moments ago an old man had rudely awoken him by poking his side with a big stick.

"Oh, bollocks," Owen muttered as he realised he was awake and nothing had changed whatsoever.

He was still there.

He was still alive.

Owen sat upright, cradling his phantom-limb pains.

"Jesus!"

The old man stopped fiddling with the small buttons of his cell-phone and reached for his chest.

"I know," Owen said, knowing he had almost given this old man a heart-attack. "I'm a ghost, I am."

"You hadn't a pulse!" the old man muttered, pointing his old, wrinkled finger at the dead man. "You're as pale as a sheet! As cold as ice! I thought you were dead!"

Owen chuckled.

"What are you laughing at, you grand git?" the old man asked. "You nearly gave me a heart-attack!"

"Yeah, I kind of have that effect on people," Owen said. "D'you want to sit down?"

The old man nodded and Owen kindly offered him his seat on the metal bench.

Owen watched how the old man gripped his heart and breathed heavily, his chest was heaving up and down as the senior, wrinkled fisherman gazed upon the orange sun; it's rays of light crept across the rooftops of Cardiff.

"You can't do this to a man of my age, you know," the old man spoke.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Owen said as he sat down next to him.

He watched how he breathed; when was the last time he had sucked real air into his lungs?

He could still do it, he could move his muscles and push his chest up, but no oxygen would ever enter his lungs again.

Or Joseph Milton's lungs.

Owen shook his head. "Whatever."

He laughed again, softly.

A deck of cards haunted his mind.

The future.

The old man beside him coughed.

"What's your name, bearded bum?" Owen asked.

"I'm no bum!" the old man spoke.

"I kind of figured that," Owen spoke. "I don't think many bums carry their lunchboxes around with them."

He pointed at the small box the old man had placed beside the bench, which lay beside a fishing rod, a thermos can, filled with coffee, and a small branch, ripped from a nearby tree, which the old man had just used to poke in Owen's side.

"My name's Philip Kind," the old man spoke. "I come round here every day. This is my spot. I fish here."

"Every morning?" Owen asked.

"Every morning," Philip replied. "Although, I didn't expect to find a man sleeping in my favourite spot! I honestly thought you were dead!"

"I am dead," Owen said as he gazed out across the water.

Philip glanced at him, with a mixture of fright and confusion in his eyes.

"Basically…" Owen added.

Philip logically assumed he was joking.

"That isn't funny," he spoke.

Owen smiled.

"What are you? Depressed or something?" Philip asked.

"I'm dead!" Owen spoke loudly, with shaking hands. "Feel my hands!"

"Why are you doing this?" Philip asked.

His chest started heaving again as he reached slowly for his chest in an attempt to control his breathing again.

"I'm not going to dance around it any longer," Owen spoke. "Like a fly towards a flame."

He liked how he said that.

"No, I've accepted it," Owen continued. "It happened, and I can't change it. Fact!"

Philip still didn't get it.

The sunlight was dancing gracefully across the dark, reflecting surface of the water.

The dark stain inside the water hid in the shadow of a building on the other side of the harbour.

"I'm dead," Owen spoke. ""Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. I'm deceased, departed, demised!"

He looked the utterly confused old man straight in the eyes.

"Philip, I am an ex-human!"

Philip was left speechless.

"Right…" he said softly.

The cold wind was blowing across the water.

"So what? You're a zombie, or something?" Philip asked.

"Basically, yeah," Owen answered.

"How'd you die?"

Owen reflected on the last minute of his life, his old body, his old friends, his old beliefs.

It had all been shattered, over and over again.

Owen laughed.

"Bullet," Owen answered casually. "Ripped straight through my chest. I died instantly. No pain."

"Blimey," Philip said.

"I'd have shown you the wound, but I don't have it anymore." Owen said.

"What?" Philip asked; he didn't understand. "You don't have it anymore? What on Earth does that mean?"

"This," Owen said and he pointed at his cheek. "is another body."

"Another body?" Philip spoke.

Disbelief was oozing from every word he spoke, but the old man was amused.

He was really enjoying this insane conversation.

"Yeah," Owen said. "I can't believe it myself, but here it is! The body of Joseph Milton!"

"Who?"

"Never mind."

Philip gazed at the black water, but then he gazed at Owen again.

"So you bought a new one?" Philip spoke sarcastically.

"I wish it were that simple," Owen said. "No, I just woke up in this one. I have no idea why. It just happened. I'm here, and that's all that matters."

He lied.

"Nah, I still don't believe you," Philip said.

Owen smiled; he wasn't about to start this discussion all over again.

"You can't be dead. Are you really dead?"

Owen smiled; he raised his hand, without even looking at the old man. "No pulse."

Philip reached for Owen's hand and felt the terrible cold.

The old man could not stand its deathly touch for long; he quickly let go of Owen's hand.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

"Tell me about it," Owen said, gazing at the orange sun.


	18. Chapter 18

He was restless, for his heart was telling him dark times were coming.

Nonetheless, he checked his reflection in the windows of a building before he sped down into the harbour; his old, blue coat danced in air in the sudden motion, aided by a gust of wind.

He was content and happy, yet alert.

Humans were such fragile beings.

He should know; he is one of them.

Sometimes he forgets that.

And with the life he has lead, who could blame him?

He would always enjoy the wind in his face and the sunlight which hits his eyes, the scent of salt water in the air and the cold touch of the wind.

Jack rubbed his hand together as he gazed up at the sky with a smile.

It was the beginning of just another day, just an ordinary, dull, not so special day, and that's what bothered the captain: there are no ordinary days.

* * *

"So what did you do?" Philip asked intrigued.

Owen told his exciting tale, using his hands to give more strength to his words.

They had been talking for hours now, and most of that time they had spent laughing and speculating about Owen's condition as living dead.

Luckily for Owen, Philip had grown tired of the zombie jokes.

"I snuck up on the creature," Owen continued mysteriously; he blinked when a cloud passed and the sun shone directly into his eyes. "And I poured some of my special mixture into his drink."

Philip smiled.

He held his fishing rod in his hands and he glanced at the little red object in the water every few minutes, watching how it bobbed up and down in the silent, calm flow of the water and waiting for the time to reel it in.

He had never caught any fish before, and he didn't mind, but something in his mind was telling him he was going to be lucky today.

"And everyone was looking at him," Owen went on. "Well, I mean, it was a blowfish sitting in a bar, who wouldn't look at him? But anyway,"

Philip chuckled again as he took a zip from his coffee.

Owen glanced at the cup in his hands, remembering what it was like to taste the brown liquid, to feel it touch his tongue and go down his throat and remembering how much he missed that simple sensation, but he ignored it and went on with his story.

"He was chatting up Gwen, which is my colleague…"

"She's with Torchwood too?" Philip asked.

"Yeah," Owen spoke, displeased about the fact that he was interrupting him.

"He never once realised what the hell was going on, until he fell face down to the floor! Unconscious, of course."

"Blimey," Philip said. "I've heard about you Torchwood lot, but this is…this is…"

"Not quite what you expected?" Owen said with a smile.

"Aliens and dead man and blowfish, and the bloody lot," Philip spoke amused. "That's a lot to think about."

Owen chuckled as he gazed upon the black water.

"You know that everything I just told you is highly classified stuff, right?" Owen said.

Philip's wrinkled, bearded face curled into a smile once more.

"Who am I going to tell?" Philip spoke. "No-one will believe me anyway."

"You believed me," Owen spoke.

"Well, I'm just an old, retired man, who's got nothing to do," Philip replied. "Fishing is the best thing I could come up with,"

"The world is a big place," Owen said. "There's loads of stuff to do out there,"

"I'm old and useless now, and I've accepted it," Philip spoke. "Sometimes I spend days here, not knowing what else to do, and sometimes I wonder if there is nothing else..."

Owen swallowed.

"Sure there is," he said.

"Nope," Philip said stubborn.

"Now you're just being silly," Owen said. "There's got to be something you could do…"

"Nothing!" Philip said, clearly upset; his left eye started twitching.

"I've spent all my life working my ass off, trying to raise some respectable children and love my wife, and what do I end up with?"

A dead man on a bench.

"Nothing," Philip repeated, as he took a zip from his coffee. "Nothing."

He sighed, and Owen gazed out in front of him, not knowing what to say.

There was nothing he could say, nothing which he could use to comfort the old man.

The water was flowing slowly, silently, as sunlight reflected upon the dark stain.

It would flow forever, until it would reach the sea again.

Endlessly it would flow, vaporize into dust and air and clouds in the sky, until it would turn to water again and drip from somebody's nose when it would pour rain.

Owen touched his nose before he gazed at the unending water flow once more.

"I've always wanted to play the piano," Owen said. "And now, in death, I've finally got the time to learn it."

He gazed upon his fragile fingers, hoping they would not crumble upon the first touch of the white and black, musical keys.

"All the time in the universe, actually…" Owen said.

Philip glanced at Owen strangely, as if he remembered he was dead.

"What if you'd reincarnate into the body of a woman?" Philip suddenly asked and Owen looked up strangely bemused.

"What?" Owen asked amused.

"It could happen, couldn't it?" Philip said. "This body dies and your soul gets transferred into the body of a woman!"

Owen laughed.

"Now that would be something, wouldn't it?" he said.

Philip laughed, however the fish would still not bite the hunter's bait.

"Now I've got something to look forward to!" Owen spoke.

He gazed at the dark water, wondering what the old man would be doing this morning if he hadn't decided to rest here for the night.

He'd sit here alone, waiting forever for the fish to bite.

"Did I miss the punch line?" a familiar voice suddenly spoke.

Owen knew straight away whose face he would be looking at when he would turn around.

"I'm afraid so," Owen said as he looked into the smiling face of Captain Jack Harkness.

"Hello, Philip." he spoke.

Philip looked around him and his eyes widened.

"You!" Philip suddenly said. "Wait a minute! I know you!"

Jack showed his big smile.

"That's impossible!" Philip exclaimed. "My god, you look exactly the same as you did twenty years ago!"

"_Impossible_," Jack said. "I've been called that before."

"I take it you know each other?" Owen said.

"This is the man who saved my wife, twenty years ago!" Philip said.

"Christine, wasn't it?" Jack said. "How is she doing now?"

"She died," Philip said. "Six months ago."

Jack's smile faded away. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She was dead, Philip's wife, the woman Jack saved all those years ago.

Owen gazed at the dark water and the dark water gazed back.

"She'd lead a good life," Philip said. "She was happy, she never once stopped enjoying life, and she was always smiling."

Owen noticed how Jack raised his chin, like a silent and subtle show of respect as he gazed at the sun in the sky.

"Always smiling," Philip repeated.

"I'm glad," Jack said.

Philip wanted to thank Jack, because he knew Christine would have wanted him to, but instead he kept looking at Owen and Jack, and his puzzled mind watched the ageless man and the dead man.

He remembered how Christine refused to talk about what happened to her that fateful night, when a dashing captain in a long, blue coat rescued her from the dangers of the night.

"Who are you people?" Philip asked.

The joke was over.

Owen gripped the metal bench with his cold hand and gazed at the ground, knowing that Jack was watching him.

"We're Torchwood," Jack spoke. "And that's all you need to know."


	19. Chapter 19

"You don't have to _retcon_ him!" Owen said. "He's just an old bum, he's got no-one to talk to and besides, who's going to believe him?"

Jack turned around to face Owen.

His hand lingered automatically on his belt.

His gaze was firm and strong, his face almost cold, as the sun shone its warmth into his face.

"Some people don't need to know," Jack said.

His coat subtly moved by the touch of the wind.

Jack concluded: "Others don't want to."

"I did," Owen said.

Jack's glare didn't change, until he suddenly smiled and his strong armour came off.

"Yes, you did," Jack said.

His bright, blue shirt turned almost entirely white in the light of the sun.

Jack welcomed its rays to his face; Owen looked away and moved into the shadows.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "He has to forget."

"I know, I shouldn't have told him," Owen said.

"Owen." Jack gazed into his eyes.

The captain did look exactly the same as he did twenty years ago.

He looked exactly the same as he did a hundred years ago.

Owen had seen the pictures; Jack had hidden them well, but not well enough.

He smiled in those pictures, like he did now.

He even wore the same coat, and he carried the same gun.

"Christine," Owen said. "The woman you saved."

The woman who died.

Did she live a full life?

Was she forever haunted by the sights of darkness and despair?

Jack waited.

"You let her remember."

Jack glanced at the sun.

The streets were coming back to life.

"Some memories you should never forget," Jack said. "Trust me, I know."

People were awakening from their sleep and preparing for work and their lives, whichever way they lead them.

"I gave her a choice," Jack said. "She chose to keep the memories. It was a brave choice."

"At least she had one," Owen replied.

"Stop it!" Jack snapped, before he calmed down. "You know the rules! Why are you doing this?"

"I don't know," Owen spoke softly. "You tell me."

"Of course I know!" Jack said. "But do you?"

Owen shook his head; he was not in the mood for psycho-babble.

In his years as a doctor, working in a hospital, he had always carefully avoided the psychiatrists.

Those shrinks didn't need to tell him who he was.

But how about now?

Owen gazed at the ageless captain, without showing the anger he hid inside.

The rage which haunted his heart now blood stopped pumping through it.

He couldn't help but feel angry whenever he looked at him.

He could still feel the cold, metal fingers wrapped around his skull.

No, wait, he couldn't feel, he was dead.

But he imagined it pretty accurately.

"Mankind isn't ready," Jack spoke.

Captain Jack Harkness.

Earth's immortal protector.

The guardian of the Rift.

He has seen the end and the beginning.

He has walked through all these streets, he knew where they all lead.

He had seen how it was built; he had seen the builders sweat to create this world.

He had seen how it grew and flourished, suffered, celebrated, bled and shined for hundreds of years.

He had lived, travelled, died, fought, learned and died again and again and again, living his immortal life years before Owen even was born.

He had even met Philip, Owen's newest best friend, twenty years before he did.

Owen couldn't even be original.

"Will they ever be ready, Jack?" Owen asked. "Will they ever see the future? Will I?"

Jack said nothing.

"Or will I just live to see everyone I know die?" Owen continued. "Philip's old, he probably doesn't have that much time left in his life, but Gwen? Rhys? Ianto?

"When are planning to tell him, Jack, that you can't spend the rest of your life with him? How are you going to tell him, that you are going to watch him whither away and die, and you will look exactly the same as you do now?!"

"I do age," Jack said.

"Yeah, but very, very slowly!" Owen spoke viciously.

Owen gazed at Jack as if he was pointing a gun at his chest.

"Why did you do it, Jack?" he asked. "Why did you have to bring me back?

"To this! This accursed existence! I didn't ask for this! Why me?"

Pale light was shining on Jack's face as tears welled up in his eyes.

"I don't want this!" Owen yelled. "I DON'T DESERVE THIS!"

Jack almost leaped towards Owen and embraced him with his mighty arms, burying his big hand in Owen's hair.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I'm so sorry, but I didn't know. I didn't want this to happen, especially not to you."

Owen wanted to cry.

He clutched to Jack's coat, with an insane desire to rip him apart.

He pushed and yelled, until he raged on, begging for tears to come, but they wouldn't.

And all he could think of was Toshiko, out of sight, out of reach, taken by the darkness.

"I knew it was you the moment I saw you," Jack said as Owen calmed down. "The moment I looked into Gwen's eyes, I knew you had come back, but I just couldn't accept it.

"I couldn't accept it, because I hoped, from the bottom of my heart, that it wouldn't be you. I hoped you were an imposter, or an alien, or an escaped mental patient, anything but you!"

"Nobody wants to live forever," Jack said. "A thousand years has taught me that."

"Just, the difference is," Owen said as he escaped Jack's hug. "you get to live day by day! I get to live corpse by corpse! I get to see my body my body decompose day by day, until it rots away completely and I get to download into another dead, hollow body! Bodies that once belonged to living people! It scares me to think where these hands have been! What these eyes have seen!

"Am I really still Owen Harper? Or am I Joseph Milton? Am I even human anymore?"

"You're human." Jack smiled.

"You're as human as it possibly gets!"

"It's just not fair!" Owen said.

Every time he thought he was going to die, every time he accepted it, embraced it and waited for the darkness to come.

But nothing ever turns out the way you think it will.

"It never is," Jack spoke.

Jack hugged Owen again and the sun started to shine even brighter.

* * *

"Abby?" a voice spoke.

She didn't want to wake up.

She wanted to linger in the shadows and choke on the gathering dust, which would linger day by day, until the end of time, turning her beautiful, blonde hair grey.

As her restless eyes gazed at a fixed point on the wall, covered in aged posters of old rock-bands, her mind wandered to the same topic it had wandered off to for months now, it seemed, although it had only been days yet.

The bright light in the sky.

The pounding inside the casket.

The dead man who came back to life.

"Abigail?"

She recognised the voice, it belonged to her friend, who was now standing in the doorway, in her pyjamas, with a kind smile on her face, and a yawn.

"Are you coming down? I think I'm going to go and bake some pancakes, would you like some?"

Abigail wanted to remain still and frozen.

She did not want to be disturbed, rescued from her dark thoughts.

She wanted to be left alone.

"Abigail?" she asked again. "I'll come back in an hour or so, okay?"

Abigail could hear her breathing as she awaited a reply; a reply which would never come, for Abigail refused to respond in any way.

She waited until she left; she waited until she heard her go down the stairs and open the creaking door of the kitchen.

She didn't feel sorry whatsoever for fooling her friend.

Abigail forced herself upright and got up from bed.

In her mind she cursed her father's friends who forced her to go back to Cardiff.

They were searching far and wide for Joseph, and all Abigail ever wanted was to join them, to find him.

Where was he?

Abigail turned away from her grey, untidy and tired reflection in the mirror and walked towards the window.

There was an old computer, standing on a table by the window, and Abigail sat down in front of it.

The computer had been left on all night, and with one subtly motion of her finger the computer awoke like she had moments ago, slowly and uncomfortably.

Swiftly she checked her email, but there was no news.

Another day had passed without Joseph.

Where was he?

Where the hell could he be?

How could he have survived?

How was he doing?

What must he be thinking?

Has he lost his memory?

Abigail didn't care, as long as she found him.

As long as she could look into his eyes once more.

She stood up and kicked the chair she used to sit on.

With tears in her eyes she turned around, and for a moment she was blinded by the sun.

The streets were empty still, filled with nothing but the howling wind.

She cursed herself for awaking so early; she cursed her friend for waking her so early.

She didn't even like pancakes.

She lied.

She rubbed her eyes and wiped away her tears.

She looked away from the sun and gazed into the streets.

A strange man wearing a long, blue coat was walking down the street, followed by another man, whose watch glistened in the sun.

Abigail blinked.

Somehow time seemed to have stopped, and her heart seemed to have skipped a beat as she gazed upon the backs of those two men.

"Joseph…" Abigail whispered.

How many men had she mistaken for him already?

How long had she not stood there in the streets the days before, hoping that he would find her, like he always had.

But Abigail still did not move; her eyes were fixed upon the stranger's back.

"Turn around!" Abigail spoke to the shadows in her room. "Turn around!"

Abigail's heart jumped when the man glanced beside him.

"JOSEPH!" she screamed. "JOSEPH!"

It was him!

She was sure it was him!

She tried desperately to open the window, but its rusty handle wasn't willing to help.

She ran downstairs in her pyjama's, rushing past her friend Helen, and running to the middle of the street.

He was gone.

"No!" Abigail cried.

She saw him!

He was there!

"Abigail!" Helen yelled.

"I saw him!" Abigail cried. "He was there!"

It had to be.

She ran to the point where she had seen him.

She rushed down into the street she thought he would have gone, but there was no sign of him.

"Joseph!" she cried, hoping that this hadn't been a figment of her desperate imagination.

"JOSEPH!"


	20. Chapter 20

Rain scattered across the car's hood and front window.

It zoomed across the highway at normal speed, as regulations prohibited.

The day had started out well, but now rain descended from the skies once more, as it did before.

Gwen was driving the Torchwood SUV, whilst rubbing her right eye with the only hand she didn't hold the steering wheel with.

The windshield wiper did its work well.

They'd both slept terribly last night, but Ianto was the one who seemed to keep it together as he rummaged through his papers, absentminded and busy.

He was muttering things to himself, inaudibly, but Gwen could see his lips move whenever she would glance upon her passenger beside her.

She yawned; she was too tired to speak.

"You haven't touched your sandwich," Ianto spoke calm.

He pointed his pen at the sandwich, laying on the dashboard, wrapped in a plastic blanket.

Gwen smiled; as always Ianto had a much better eye than she had.

Gwen hadn't noticed that whilst she was looking at him, he had been looking at her.

"I'm too tired," Gwen said. "I can't eat, I can't think,"

"You can drive, can you?" Ianto said, slightly disturbed as he raised one eyebrow.

Gwen smiled, knowing too well he was only joking.

Of course, he was right.

She had to keep it together; she was driving way too fast to be losing her focus, or dozing off.

"Slept well?" Ianto asked.

"No," Gwen admitted as she fixed her eyes upon the road in front of her. "I had such a great dream…"

"What was it about?" Ianto asked.

"Well, that's just the thing, I don't remember…"

"It wasn't about Daleks, was it?" Ianto said. "Fairies? Weevils?"

"No," Gwen spoke amused, shaking her head. "It was a good dream."

Ianto smiled kindly.

"It was brilliant," Gwen added.

If only she could remember what it was about.

"Jack wouldn't have asked us to go if it wasn't important," Ianto said, knowing she was tired and desperately lacking sleep after everything which happened last night.

Gwen knew he was right.

She gazed at the signs by the side of the road, knowing that her exit was miles away.

She looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror; she was looking pale and her hair was dreadful, even though she spent at least half an hour trying to fix it up.

"What are you doing?" Gwen asked.

Ianto stopped what he was doing and he took a deep breath.

"I'm writing," Ianto said. "In my diary."

"What about?" Gwen asked.

"Yesterday," Ianto replied.

Owen was back, but Gwen didn't feel like celebrating.

Too many questions still needed answering, and she still couldn't forget the other face which kept haunting her mind, ever since Owen returned.

The one who didn't return, who didn't make it back.

The dead woman on the iron drawer, laying peacefully underneath a white sheet.

Gwen took a deep breath and focused on the wet, glistening asphalt of the road in front of her.

The clouds were dark and grey; the rain was light, but gushing in the heavy winds.

"What did you write?" Gwen asked.

Ianto turned to his first page.

"This was a good day," Ianto quoted.

Gwen listened to the roaring engine, the wind and the sounds of swift, passing cars which disappeared into thin, white lines.

"And?" she asked.

"That's it," Ianto said.

* * *

The rain had stopped.

The entire world around them was drenched, and dripping drops of water.

Gwen slammed the car door shut.

"Yes, it's magnificent!" Gwen cried into her cell-phone. "What did you…"

"I'll never tell!" Rhys spoke on the other end of the conversation. "It's the secret which makes it special! Otherwise it'll just be another sandwich, now won't it?"

He had only just woken up from bed, and he was pouring some hot coffee into his mug, before scuttling off to the sofa, to watch some telly, wearing nothing but his pink, fluffy slippers and a warm, brown robe over his pyjamas.

"I'll be home as soon as possible," Gwen said, holding her sandwich up as if it were something valuable and fragile.

"You'd better be," Rhys replied.

She was avoiding a puddle of water as she stepped on to the sidewalk.

White, suburban houses surrounded them; lovely, little homesteads which looked somewhat expensive.

"I took a day off for you!" Rhys said. "Now I'm stuck here all by myself…"

"You could still go to work if you wanted to," Gwen replied. "Oi!"

Ianto had just taken a bite from her sandwich and he smiled at her as he chewed on it.

Gwen laughed.

"But I don't want to go to work!" Rhys said. "I want to be with you! Where are you now?"

"Swansea," Gwen said. "Don't ask."

"I know, I know," Rhys said. "Official Torchwood business, but I reckon it has something to do with Owen?"

"How did you get so smart all of a sudden?" Gwen said.

"I've been taken over by an alien consciousness," Rhys joked.

Gwen laughed.

"You keep underestimating me, but that'll be your downfall, Gwen Cooper," Rhys continued. "I'll destroy the world and you wouldn't even know it!"

"Well, it makes sense," Gwen said. "I've snogged an alien and got impregnated by another. It'd be only proper if I'd married one too."

"You snogged an alien?" Rhys asked shocked.

Gwen smiled as she walked towards the driveway of a big, white house, surrounded by a large, metal fence and a moderately large, green garden.

"I'll see you soon." Gwen finished. "Bye, love,"

Gwen ended the conversation and looked up at the enormous house, whose gate they now stood in front of, and she turned towards Ianto.

"Shall we?" she said as she brushed a strand of black hair out of the corner of her mouth.

"After you," Ianto said with a smile, gesturing politely as he let her enter through the gate first.


	21. Chapter 21

"He didn't deserve to die," the middle-aged man in the black suit spoke.

He paced around his own living room, rubbing his chin with two fingers.

An old clock was ticking in the background as Ianto cradled his neat, small cup of tea.

'He was too young," the man spoke. "Too young."

He had said those words many times now, since they entered their house.

Gwen and Ianto had been travelling between houses and families, knocking on doors as either one of them uttered the magic words:

"We're Torchwood."

Ianto had lost track by now, as he sat in the soft sofa next to a fake pussycat, designed to look like it was sleeping.

Ianto's long feet kept on touching the small, wooden table in front of him.

The television was turned off.

"I lost my faith in God a long time ago," the man went on. "Not my wife through, she's been a firm believer since a child, always goes to church and everything, but me, you'll never catch me in a church, not unless it's the end of days, you know?"

Ianto glanced at Gwen and couldn't help but smile; he quickly erased the smile from his face and returned to his calm and kind face.

Gwen had told him not to accept any coffee, or sit down in the sofa, but Ianto was thirsty and felt like sitting down for a change.

"But what happened that day," the man spoke. "what happened that day has to have been a miracle, no doubt about it."

"Tell us more about what happened," Gwen asked. "What did you see?"

The man glanced up at the ceiling as he tried to remember.

His wife was coming back from the kitchen with a few brownies on a tray.

Gwen declined the brownie, but Ianto gratefully accepted.

"There was light, white light, I clearly remember that," the man spoke. "It engulfed the casket as it was about to be put in the ground! If it had happened a moment later, Joseph would have been buried beneath a layer of dirt and no-one would have heard him!"

"Isn't it time for your medicine, Timothy?" his wife asked, interrupting him.

Old Timothy's eyes widened. "Quite right!"

Gwen glanced at Ianto, nudging him to spring into action.

It was time to leave.

Ianto reached into his pocket for the little box of pills he always carried with him and he stood up and followed Timothy to his medicine cabinet.

His wife groaned as she sat down on a chair by the large, wooden, dinner table.

Her back was sore.

Behind her stood two large cabinets filled with silverware and antique glasses, not used in many years and probably gathering dust by now.

"We tried to call the police and even the newspapers," she spoke to Gwen as she approached her. "But they wouldn't respond to us. I thought they didn't believe us, until one of them referred to Torchwood. I've never heard of it before, but here you are now! You're real!"

"We certainly are, mrs. Williams." Gwen spoke kindly. "And I promise you, we are going to do everything we can to find Joseph."

"What are you, if I might ask?" Mrs. Williams spoke. "What is Torchwood? I've never heard of it before…"

Her old fragile hands were trembling as it touched the little cup of tea on the table in front of her, and before she knew it, Gwen had spiked it with a hint of retcon, and she would be fast asleep before Ianto and Gwen had closed the door behind them.

As they stood on the doorstep, leading outside, Gwen glanced at Ianto.

He nodded; the old man had been retconned as well.

"That's about all of them," Ianto spoke, as he looked at his list.

They were walking back to the SUV as a cold breeze hit the side of their faces.

"No," Gwen said. "There's one more left to do."

She had been dreading this last one, that is why she saved them for last.

Joseph Milton's parents.

Gwen started the car as she gazed into the cold, empty suburban street, filled with lamp-posts and green trees, but people were absent in the shadow of the storm, only a handful of people dared to walk outside, and they all carried umbrellas or were wearing raincoats.

"Their descriptions of the events all match," Ianto said. "They all saw the same thing. A large, white floating in mid-air, hovering above the casket, and then he started pounding inside.

Gwen couldn't help but wonder how it must've been, trapped inside that darkness, screaming, wondering whether anyone could hear him as the last rays of sunlight slowly fade away.

"The wife kept on talking about their daughter, Abigail," Gwen said.

"Joseph's girlfriend," Ianto spoke as he glanced at the list.

"They said she went to Cardiff to stay with friends," Gwen said.

"I'm afraid we have to look her up as well," Ianto said remarkably calm. "She must forget."

Gwen wanted to object, but she knew it was their job and he was right; a horrible feeling crept up inside Gwen that moment and it would take hours for it to go away.

* * *

They had been driving for a short time now, as they tried to find the last house on their list.

Gwen swallowed as she confirmed the house's number, dreading the confrontation which would follow next.

She gazed at her reflection in the rear-view mirror as she unbuckled herself.

"Let's go," she said to herself.


	22. Chapter 22

The big, round, metal door opened with its familiar whirring noise.

Jack stepped onwards into the Torchwood Hub; Owen listened to his footfalls as his shoes touched the metal construction.

Owen waited, before entering and he glanced around the entire place, which hadn't changed one single bit after his death, it seemed.

He could still hear the voices laughing and talking, as if nothing ever happened.

As if all had remained the same.

Jack noticed how Owen glanced around the Hub, and he smiled.

"I remember the first time I saw this place," he spoke with gleaming eyes.

"I was shot and dragged inside, where I was strapped to a chair, tied up, soaked in water and electrocuted by two beautiful woman. Those were the days!"

Jack laughed as he put his hands in his pockets.

His laughing cheeks reduced his eyes to dark lines, pushed underneath his eyebrows, but they shined eternally, reflecting one tiny dot of light behind Owen's back.

Owen couldn't possibly imagine how the Hub must've looked like hundreds of years ago.

Then suddenly Owen wondered what the Hub would look like in the future…

"Hello?" a voice called. "Is anyone there?"

Owen recognised that voice.

Jack ran to the monitor and with a swift touch of his finger the screen showed the magnanimous, beautiful face of a woman called-

"Martha Jones!" Jack exclaimed. "Just the person I've been wanting to see!"

Martha smiled.

She sat behind a wooden desk, glancing at what they imagined to be a small camera attached to her own computer

"You always say that," she said amused.

"I've never lied before, and I still haven't!" Jack replied with a big grin on his handsome face as he folded his arms together. "How's your research going?"

Owen stood behind Jack, out of the camera's sight, with his hands in his pockets, watching how he flirted with Martha.

The Hub was eerily quiet; even their pet pterodactyl wasn't flying today.

Maybe she was still sleeping.

Owen looked up to see where the extinct creature had flown off to.

He glanced at the enormous glass sculpture which stood at the centre of the Hub and the other sections of the Hub where only shadows roamed.

Where were Ianto and Gwen?

"UNIT won't accept my resignation," Martha spoke. "And before you say anything, Jack, I completely understand their point. They're studying the Daleks remains and they haven't got the slightest clue what they're dealing with here, but I do. I've seen them before, I've fought them, we all have."

"I haven't," Owen muttered to himself, silently so that Jack couldn't hear him.

He wondered what a Dalek could be.

He knew he had read that name somewhere before; it was at the tip of his tongue.

"I am the only one who can help them analyze the Dalek remains," Martha continued. "They need my help if they'd ever want to be able to withstand a future attack. These remains can help them, but I just need more time…"

Jack nodded.

"Do whatever you think is best," Jack said. "But just so you know, you're always welcome in Cardiff."

Martha smiled.

"And if those generals at UNIT ever give you any trouble, say about your resignation, just give me a call and I'll take care of it."

"Now don't go starting another feud between UNIT and Torchwood!" Martha spoke. "I read what happened last time!"

Suddenly Owen heard something.

The sound seemed to be emerging from the dungeon, and the Weevil holding cells.

Owen wanted to investigate, but he was unable to leave.

He knew what was to come next.

"Well, let's get this over with," he spoke as he nudged Jack aside and placed himself in front of the monitor.

"Jack, who's this?" Martha asked confused, as a huge face on her screen abruptly ended her conversation with Jack.

"Hello, Martha," Owen spoke apathetic. "How's the husband?"

"Could you just back up for a bit there?" Martha asked the stranger who stood too close to the camera and was now filling up her screen. "Jack?"

"Do you remember me telling you about Owen?" Jack said to Martha.

He gazed at Owen, uncomfortably, but not angry, instead disappointed.

"Yeah," Martha said.

"Tell her, Jack!"

Now Jack was angry.

He glared at Owen viciously, and Owen backed off.

Martha was confused as she tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle using the words from their conversation, but the puzzle was missing one vital piece.

She could feel that this was only but the top of the iceberg she was seeing, seeing the look in their eyes as they gazed at each other.

Something big was going on here.

"Jack, they need me." Martha said, glancing sideways at someone off-screen.

Martha glanced at Jack and Owen, waiting for something to happen.

"I need to go."

She was just reaching out to the computer to turn off the camera and cut the link, when she heard what Owen said:

"I don't need this." he said to Jack.

Martha looked at the screen, at the stranger who stood beside Jack, and she took her hand away from the camera.

"Owen?" she asked, knowing from experience that nothing is what it seems.

Nothing is impossible anymore.

HR

"Why?" Jack asked as he turned his back on the computer.

He gazed at Owen, leaning with his lower back against the chair and he took a deep breath beneath his folded arms.

Owen looked away.

"Just give me on good reason."

The captain was angered, and Owen knew he deserved to be.

Owen tried to defend himself: "I don't want to be sectioned!"

Jack waited.

Owen knew it was a lame excuse, but there was some truth to it.

UNIT could have him dissected if they wanted.

They could open up his skull and seek out the mysterious energy which is keeping him alive.

The energy which binds him, engulfs him, connects him, creates him, keeps him; his salvation, his essence, his soul…

"Martha wouldn't do that," Jack said. "You know this, you know her!"

"I know!" Owen spoke.

"I thought you liked Martha," Jack said.

"I do!" Owen exclaimed.

Jack was still waiting.

Owen didn't know why he tried to stop Jack from telling Martha he lived, why he had to mock him, ruin his words; he didn't know why, but he did know he simply had to.

Something inside him made him step up and stop Jack.

Why?

He asked himself that question now, as he looked upon Jack and took a deep breath.

"It's just that…" Owen said. "A part of me…still wishes I was dead. Owen Harper _is_ dead! In a way!"

It made sense.

He still wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready to accept that he's still alive, and he will never die.

"Why give people false hope, if you could just tell them they're dead? Give them closure! Give them serenity! Tell them I'm in heaven! Tell them I'm resting forever! Oh, the rest I deserve…a lifetime of sleep! Don't you understand, Jack? They don't have to know…"

Jack smiled.

"You finally understand…" he spoke.

They don't have to know about the man who haunts the shadows at night, forever walking through the eternal rain, waiting for the sunshine to appear.

Or the monsters.

Or all those people who've died to protect the Earth from those monsters; the people who dared to venture into the shadows, but never returned.

They don't have to know about the eternally suffering, the accursed and those scarred by the night, blinded by the day.

"It's unfair," Jack spoke. "But it's how the world works. It's how people keep on smiling, how the world keeps on turning, how day fades into night and shadows turn into rain, how flowers blossom and hummingbirds sing, how blue fades into red…"


	23. Chapter 23

There was a man there, standing in the Hub next to Jack.

A stranger, a ghost, the spitting image of a man who should be dead, who deserved to die, but who lived.

How?

Why?

In his mind he prepared the confrontation with this impossible man.

Rage was building inside his chest, which he contained easily, restraining himself whilst controlling his breathing at the same time, gripping the banister of the metal stairwell with a black fist.

This man was the bringer of destruction, the killer of innocent souls, the creator of cold, heartless steel and a brain without emotion locked inside a metal skull.

"Oi!" he yelled and the stranger looked up.

He slowly walked towards the stranger, ignoring Jack's eyes as he started listening to the rage inside his chest.

"Mickey!" Jack exclaimed happily, but it soon faded as Mickey reached for a silver, futuristic gun.

"Get away from him, Jack!" Mickey cried.

Owen sarcastically, but confused, raised his arms halfway in the air as he viciously gazed at the black young man with a slight beard on his face, who was aiming a small gun at him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Jack said, nearly assaulting Mickey, but he wouldn't back down.

"I know exactly what I am doing," Mickey spoke. "He isn't supposed to be here."

Jack reached out with his hand towards Mickey's gun, and he protected Owen by blocking Mickey's path.

"Mickey, put the gun down!" Jack cried.

Mickey was determined to finish what he started all those years ago.

"D'you know who this is?" Mickey spoke.

"Shoot me and you're going to regret it," Owen spoke violently.

"Owen!" Jack yelled, trying to shut him up.

"Seriously, I'm not in the mood right now to get shot! Not again!"

"Oi!" Mickey spoke. "I was talking!"

He had to make Jack understand.

"No, you were pointing a gun at my friend!" Jack spoke.

"So he's your friend is he?" Mickey cried; he was eager to pull that trigger.

"Let him shoot me, Jack," Owen cried. "I was going to buy some new clothes anyway!"

'Shut up!" Mickey spoke, slightly confused about his words, but he didn't care.

"You don't understand. It was in this parallel world. It was him we were after…"

"That was a different world," Jack said. "A different universe. This man has nothing to do with it, and even if he did, that doesn't matter anymore…"

Mickey didn't understand.

"Joseph Milton is dead," Jack explained. "He died two weeks ago! This is someone else, this is Owen Harper."

"Right," Mickey said.

He still wouldn't lower his gun; he still didn't understand what was going on, although he tried to pretend that he did.

"Mickey, have I ever lied to you?" Jack asked.

Mickey glanced at Jack and sighed, before lowering his small weapon.

"No," he said.

Jack calmed down; he was visibly glad to see Mickey put his gun away.

The tension remained however, as Mickey glanced at Owen with a violent glance.

Owen didn't know what just happened, but strangely enough, even in his own opinion, he was finding it all rather amusing.

"Owen Harper?" Mickey asked.

"Mickey Smith," Jack added and he pointed at Mickey.

"Pleased to meet you," Owen said sarcastically and casually, as if he hadn't just been threatened by him with a gun.

"I wish I could say the same," Mickey added grim.

"Now could someone just tell me who the hell I'm talking to?" Owen said., glancing at the young lad, dressed in leather; Owen even noticed his leather gloves.

"I'm Torchwood," Mickey spoke cool.

Jack laughed. "You wish."

He grabbed Mickey by the collar and dragged him away from Owen.

"He flunked his trial period," Jack spoke. "So I demoted him, until further notice."

"Yeah, whatever." Mickey spoke, never letting his eyes wander away from Joseph Milton.

"Whatever, SIR!" Jack corrected him. "Do you want to be in Torchwood, or not?"

"I'm not going into those dungeons again!"

"Someone's going to have to clean those Weevil cells!"

Mickey pulled himself out of Jack's grip.

"You need me!" Mickey said. "And don't tell me don't, cause I know you do. I'm not stupid."

Jack laughed.

"I'm not!" Mickey spoke annoyed, reminded of an old friend's teasing remarks. "You're undermanned! And besides, you need a man like me, with my expertise."

"Gotcha!" Jack spoke. "If we see any Cybermen, we'll give you a call!"

"Very funny," Mickey spoke. "But I know a thing or two about Daleks as well."

"Dalek?" Owen asked. "What's that?"

Mickey glanced at Owen and immediately his eyes turned dark.

"So who are you again?" Mickey asked.

Owen answered him, but a different question roamed his mind.

Who is Joseph Milton, and what's he done to make Mickey Smith so eager to kill him?

"Parallel world?" Owen asked.

"Long story," Mickey spoke.

"I've got plenty of time…" Owen spoke.


	24. Chapter 24

Philip woke up.

Disorientated and numbed, he glanced around him, discovering he had somehow fallen asleep on the metal bench.

"I must've dozed off," he muttered to himself as he searched for his possessions.

His fishing rod was laying on the ground, beside a big puddle of dried coffee which originated from the open thermos can which must've slipped out of his hands during his sleep.

He wondered how long he had been asleep and he gazed upon the sun which shined above him.

"It must be midday," Philip muttered to himself.

He didn't remember how he got here, or when he had left his house this morning, or how he got up from bed.

Somehow he was here; his memory's a blank, but Philip didn't think anything of it.

He was an old man, he forgets things loads of times.

The sun was blinding him, reflecting sunlight into the dark water of the harbour.

Philip noticed how the dark stain had grown somehow.

The shadow on the water had become bigger, but was it a shadow?

Philip glanced at it, but shook his head.

Tons of things were laying in the harbour still, underneath the water's surface.

Wreckages and pollution and promises never kept.

Philip craved for a new coffee, for his head was pounding.

He didn't remember drinking last night, but this sure felt like a hangover.

* * *

Many miles away, in Swansea, in yet another big house, Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones stepped onto the beautiful carpet as a woman delightfully welcomed them into her house.

The little white pills were burning in Gwen's pocket.

"I'm Amanda," she said. "Amanda Milton, his mother. Please tell me that you found him. Please!"

Ianto was unable to smile and he waited for Gwen to take over the conversation and guide it into the right direction.

"We're working on it, Mrs. Milton," Gwen spoke as she entered the living room, through the kitchen.

"I've been working on pamphlets, you see," she said as she showed them her work.

Piles of paper stood on the table, in the sunlight, and the computer in the corner of the room kept on printing them.

"My other son is still looking for him," Amanda spoke. "He has connections, you know."

"Connections?" Gwen asked.

"Let's not talk about Ben," Amanda spoke. "I want to talk about Joseph. Have you heard what all those people have seen at the funeral? Everyone's talking about it!"

"Everyone?" Ianto said, fearing they'd soon have to retcon the entire town.

"Rumours spread quickly, Mrs. Milton," Gwen said. "Words get distorted, lies obscure the truth."

"That's what I've been telling her," a man suddenly spoke and Gwen and Ianto looked up.

He sat in a wheelchair, in the doorway of the narrow kitchen.

They couldn't see his face at first, as sunlight hit his back through the curtains kitchen windows.

He had a pale, round face, full of wrinkles and spots, and his hands, which cradled the wheelchair's wheels, were similar.

His black hair was extremely short, with subtle strokes of grey; he was balding.

"No-one can escape death," the man spoke.

He spoke loud and articulated, almost aristocratic.

Every time he spoke he seemed to be weakened, as if speaking hurt him and he was running out of breath.

"Not even my poor nephew,"

"Nephew?" Ianto asked.

"This is my brother," Amanda spoke, seemingly disappointed that no-one was looking at her pamphlets anymore. "John Lumic."

"Yes, I've read about you," Ianto said. "Weren't you once the head of a mayor corporation, Cybus Industries?"

John was visibly distraught to hear that name.

"Yes," he spoke with difficulty as is eyes wandered to glance at other things in the room but their staring eyes. "But I chose to retire. My health, you see, is declining steadily."

Gwen and Ianto didn't see how Amanda's eyes welled up.

She immediately chose to step up and support her brother by standing beside him.

"The board of directors chose to honourably replace me as Head of Cybus Industries last year, fearing that my health would endanger any important financial decisions. I reluctantly accepted."

Ianto knew the truth.

John Lumic was forced to retire by the board of directors; they threatened to shut down his financial support which funded the doctors who kept him alive

"Soon after I stepped down, Cybus Industries was sold to-"

"Shelby Technologies," Ianto interrupted.

"Yes," John spoke, somewhat impressed by Ianto's interest and knowledge.

"Would you like some coffee?" he asked.

His articulated voice seemed somewhat forced and uncomfortable, as if this kind gesture was hard for him to do.

His hand was trembling as he gazed upon Ianto and Gwen.

They had been to dozens of houses and dozens of families, and they had been offered dozens of gallons of coffee which was running down their systems that very moment.

Gwen feared she would never be able to sleep again if she would have yet another mug of coffee.

"Yes, please." both Ianto and Gwen spoke politely.

"Amanda," he spoke robotically. "Would you be so kind as to…"

He didn't even have to finish his sentence.

"Of course, darling," Amanda said with a sad smile.

John nodded as he watched her leave, then he subtly rolled his wheelchair closer to Gwen and Ianto.

"Don't let her smile fool you," John spoke. "She is a shattered woman underneath."

"What do you mean, Mr. Lumic?" Gwen asked.

John hesitated slightly before continuing.

"Before the news of Joseph's impossible return, my sister was living in a –how can I describe it- a catatonic state."

Ianto and Gwen forced themselves not to look at the woman who was making them a cup of coffee.

"She lost her husband two years ago in a dreadful accident," John said. "And then she lost her most beloved son."

John was breathing heavily; his longer sentences pained him, so he had to pause.

"It was painful to watch how a woman in her prime could lose all hope, to descend in such a dark state of mind that she would rather die then see another day…"

Amanda was happily pouring coffee into two mugs.

"She refused to eat or drink, sleep or live," John went on. "And without Ben, I do believe she would've died."

John paused.

"Now I ask of you, is there any truth to this news? Where is Joseph? Where is my nephew?"

Amanda walked into the living room cradling two coffee mugs in her hands.

She was smiling divinely, hiding her sadness underneath, but her eyes were gleaming full of hope.

John was awaiting his answer.

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

There was a woman, sporting a long, gray raincoat and walking through puddles of water in the street, rushing past the houses with a trembling hand and a pale, ghostly face as she clung on to the coats of strangers, begging for help.

"Have you seen this man?" she asked whoever crossed her path, pressing the small, wrinkled photograph of herself and a certain Joseph Milton in their faces.

They laughed at the camera, happy ghosts of a dream so unreal it almost never happened.

"Have you seen him? Please, think!"

Her doubtful friend stood behind Abigail with hesitating hands, not knowing whether to step in.

Helen felt embarrassed, yet at the same time she sympathized with Abigail's sadness.

She watched, as Abigail did, the confused and uncomfortable faces of the pedestrians who passed them by and looked at the picture without recognising the sad eyes of Joseph Milton, laughing away his doomed existence as if smiles could end wars.

Abigail's agitated, desperate state slowly scared the people away, leaving her to wonder if it all had been a dream, or a hallucination.

Still she had no answers, except the strange description of the stranger who accompanied her lover down that lonely street…

* * *

Owen's eyes were fixed on the square screen, his pale face lit up by a bright, blue hue.

Jack walked past him, but he never even noticed.

The dead man didn't even move once, except for his fingers, which he used to scroll down the page, reading countless news-articles over and over again, unable to believe the truth in the journalist's words.

Jack grabbed his blue coat as Mickey walked towards the doorway.

"Planets in the sky?" Owen exclaimed, chuckling as he tried to imagine the hilarious chaos of ordinary people fleeing from the Dalek fleet. "You've got to be fucking kidding!"

He didn't believe one word of it, even after all the shit he's seen before.

Owen turned around.

He was seeing shadows in the corner of his eye, but he was too busy, too focused, not bothered, to glance at it and reveal its true identity to him.

The incredible news that the Earth was not alone was still spinning in front of his eyes as he gazed at the empty Hub.

"Jack?"

His voice echoed through the emptiness; he was gone.

Owen lifted himself halfway out of his chair and into the air, preparing to leap from his chair when the shadows would not answer him.

He clutched the sides of his chair as anger built up inside him.

"JACK!"

The Earth may not be alone, but Owen was.

* * *

"Owen Harper," Mickey Smith said. "Is he a friend of yours?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, smiling. "What am I saying? You're friends with everyone."

Jack smiled, but without the enthusiasm which gleamed from inside him like it always had.

Mickey noticed it and found it weird.

"Not with everyone," Jack spoke softly and he gazed fiercely at the horizon.

A chilly morning breeze was blowing in their faces as Mickey and Jack stood on Jack's favourite spot on the roof.

They looked down on the busy world below, watching how all the people in the city moved on with their careless lives, not looking up at the sky anymore; its novelty had worn off, its blue beauty taken for granted like it was before and the world spun round like it always had.

Its moon smiled down upon them, glad of their return and the restoration of gravity and orbital paths; it had been helpless without its bigger brother.

The humans had repaired the damage and buried the dead, and now they continued their lives like before, not knowing who had sacrificed their lives so they could keep on working, eating, sleeping, loving, shouting, kissing, driving, laughing, cursing, killing, and just plain living.

"You haven't even mentioned him once to me," Mickey said as the wind buzzed in his ear and sunlight burned his face.

"Before today, I mean. You hadn't told me anything."

'Did I need to?" Jack asked, slightly turning his head to look back at Mickey, who stood behind him.

"Not even Gwen or Ianto said anything," Mickey went on. "Why?"

Jack didn't answer him.

Mickey didn't like being ignored.

"Look, I'm just asking…"

"You're not even a full member of Torchwood, Mickey!" Jack snapped. "I'm not even supposed to be talking to you!"

Mickey subtly backed down.

The sun was climbing through the sky, reaching its highest point of the day as the Earth kept turning, moving the shadows as it always had as the yellow star shone brightly from afar.

But Jack knew that too would find its end someday, sometime.

A time would come when all the stars in the universe would go out, and no-one would be able to stop it.

The end is inevitable, and that is only natural.

Immortality would be over within the blink of an eye.

And they were just getting started, one day at a time.

Jack smiled. "You know what day it is, Mickey?"

Mickey looked confused, but interested, and he slowly shook his head.

"No," he answered honestly.

'It's Monday," Jack spoke, just before Mickey remembered.

"A new day, a beautiful day, which'll only happen once."

"Unless you own a time-machine," Mickey quipped.

Jack laughed; tears started welling up in his eyes, filled with a happy sort of sadness.

"You've changed, Jack," Mickey said.

"Everything's changed," Jack said, seriously, but kind, as sunshine reflected in his tears.


	26. Chapter 26

"This room hasn't been touched or disturbed in seven years," Amanda spoke.

Ianto saw how Amanda struggled with her wishes to tidy up the room and neatly fold one of Joseph's old shirts which was still left hanging on the back of a chair were he had left it , but at the same time she wanted to keep the memory of her son intact.

She made a promise to herself the day he died never to touch or move anything in here.

"Except once," Amanda added. "The day he got out of prison. The day he died."

Again, Amanda struggled, only this time to stop herself from crying in front of the investigators.

Her long, blonde, untidy hair looked even paler in the light which shined through the big, attic window.

"What is Torchwood exactly?" Amanda suddenly asked, through her fit of sadness as she turned her face to Ianto and Gwen, who was cradling her sore wrist.

For an old man, dying and crippled man John Lumic 's grip around Gwen's wrist had been strong and painful.

She had told him she couldn't say anything, or share any information about the investigation with the public, not yet.

"This is an official Torchwood investigation…" Gwen had said.

"Surely no man can return from the dead!" John Lumic had said to her. "Please, mrs. Williams! I only want the truth!"

The grip around her wrist tightened, forcing Gwen to make a decision.

"Mr. Lumic," she had said to him.

She could hear the stairs creak as Ianto followed Amanda upstairs, holding his cup of coffee in his hand, trying not to spill it across the rug.

"What?" Ianto asked, not hearing Amanda's question.

He was gazing around the room, looking at the posters of movies and rock-bands and the photograph of a smiling girl with a milkshake in her hands.

"What is Torchwood?" Amanda asked.

Ianto swallowed.

If he had said 'Torchwood' was the name of a new Chinese restaurant which had only recently opened its doors in Cardiff, he wouldn't be lying; it had been his idea and Jack loved it.

"We're a special team of investigators," Ianto answered casually, still smiling as he thought of the restaurant.

Amanda thought of Joseph, the funeral she did not witness, her son Ben and Abigail, stuck in the city, begging for answers.

She had never heard of Torchwood before.

"What do you investigate?" Amanda asked.

Ianto glanced at the ceiling for a split second.

"Stuff," he answered cheerfully.

Amanda was confused by that answer, but her thoughts were cut off as Gwen stepped towards the bed and looked at her.

"How did Joseph die?"

She wasn't prepared for that question; she pulled herself together to answer Gwen.

She looked so much older as she stood by the window, bathing in broad daylight.

"I still call it his _death_," Amanda said with difficulty, and Gwen couldn't help but feel incredibly sorry for her. "but I don't know if I can still call it that, knowing he's back.

"Maybe the doctors made a mistake," Amanda went on hopefully. "Maybe they missed something, maybe he never died! I've read about those experiences were someone is put into a coma and the doctors start cutting, thinking he's unconscious, but in fact they feel everything!"

She turned to Gwen and Ianto for support.

"There could have been no way of telling he was alive! Couldn't that have happened?"

She clung to them, hoping to find any sign of hope in their expression, but all she found was sadness and silence.

Again Gwen could feel the pain in her wrist as if Mr. Lumic was still holding her hand.

"I asked you a question, Mrs. Williams," he said to her.

A sudden draft coming from the open kitchen door caused a few pamphlets to ascend from the pile and float through the air.

"I don't know what you want to hear, Mr. Lumic!" Gwen had said to him after Ianto and Amanda had gone upstairs.

The old man sat in the wheelchair, his face was pale and his eyes were big; his mouth was half open as he took a deep breath.

Lies were spinning so fast in Gwen's head it frightened her.

"The truth is all I want!" he had said to her. "It is all a dying man needs!"

"Mr. Lumic, would you please let go of my hand!" Gwen cried.

John Lumic gazed at Gwen as if she had just told him he would soon lose the ability to use his hands, just like he had lost his legs as well.

He had loosened his grip and Gwen pulled her painful wrist out of the old man's hand.

His big eyes were asking for answers, for hope, but Gwen had said nothing.

"I don't know, Mrs. Milton," Gwen said to Amanda as she stood in Joseph's room.

"I'm so sorry, but I don't know."

Every word she spoke poured out of her like blood.

She hated every word, ever sound, every syllable and letter.

Amanda started crying and she hugged Gwen, delving her tears into her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Gwen repeated softly, but Amanda didn't hear her.

"Please find my son," Amanda said.

A terrible cold spread across Gwen's spine as she held Mrs. Milton in her arms.

It had been awkwardly cold in Joseph's room the entire time, but what they were feeling right now, was something else.

Gwen glanced at Ianto, and by looking in his eyes she could tell he was feeling it too.


	27. Chapter 27

Bound inside the box, by boundaries, selfishness and ignorance, no-one cared for the fate of Abigail Williams, or her quest.

She pushed on, despite all odds, throughout the day, never giving up.

She would find him.

Her friend, her love, her soul mate.

The one she had been waiting for.

The one which was taken from her.

The looks of sad sympathy in the eyes of the many did not console her as they told her they did not recognise the man in the photo.

He was a stranger, he was someone, but for in their eyes he could very well not even exist, like all those planets out there in the universe, hidden away by the sky's blue colour and the grey clouds.

They were blinded by the sun's light and now they could not see the stars.

And Abigail cried.

Everyone likes to believe in miracles, but to expect the unreal and to believe in a fantasy...

Is it not everyone's worst fear find out at the end of one's day, one's lifetime, one's journey, that everything you have once believed in is wrong?

Even the possibility can be too much to handle, frighten you into stone and spin your brain into madness, in this zone of choice and indecision dominated by illogical fear; the only thing you _can_ believe in.

But to believe in something, in love, in science, in destiny, in religion, is a brave choice, a dangerous belief in an uncertain world where nothing is what it seems to be.

In the end, all you can do is hope.

And Abigail did.

She believed in miracles.

She believed in the extraordinary, which was so hard to find in this place.

The miraculous, the beautiful, the impossible; all thinly spread across the Earth's many continents, like the drops of water in a haze of rain/

Only the persistent, the determined, the obsessed, the lucky and the doomed are able to find larger quantities of that blissful golden air in the furthest corners of this world, its highest peaks and lowest valleys, in the most unexpected turns, ordinary places and unimportant decisions.

Although legend speaks of a mysterious blue box…

The wrinkled pale photograph was almost ripped from her hand by a gust of wind when the bus roared its engines.

Abigail cursed the bus stop, desiring to smash the glass window over and over again, until the shattered shards of glass covered her coat.

She imagined her own body, covered in glass like tiny splinters, a human pincushion or voodoo doll, toyed with by fate as it stung the doll, striking its heart, and a small drop of blood would emerge from the doll's wound.

"Please!" she yelled at the people on the bus and she waved her photograph at them, but they wouldn't listen, or could in fact, as the bus drove off.

"Abigail!" Helen yelled.

The appearance of her friend made Abigail awake from her dark daydreams and return to an even darker real world, beneath this grey sky.

"Abigail, please! Let's go home!"

Abigail gazed at the ground, feeling her own body crumble beneath the weight of weariness and hunger.

She could still taste the salt of her tears in her mouth.

Helen was freezing with her tiny coat on.

"Come on, Abby!" she said as she stood a few feet away. "This has gone on for too long! We have to go back! And I'm late for work!"

"Your work?" Abigail snapped. "What? That little job at the telemarketing-company?"

Helen heard the tone in Abby's voice and knew exactly what she was implying.

"Yes!" she replied almost reluctantly, but snappy. "I can't be late! Not again! So what do you say if we go back?"

Abigail hesitated.

"I can't," she said softly.

She held the photograph in her hand, still with her back turned towards Helen, and she gazed at it until Helen got close enough to see it, then she quickly put it away.

"Look, Abby," Helen said. "Even if he's really out there…"

"He's out there," Abigail spoke.

"We don't have a chance of finding him!"

"I saw him! He was there!"

Helen groaned, thinking of ways to convince her friend to return to the sanctuary of her crappy apartment and get away from this wet street corner.

Cars drove past, through puddles of water which wouldn't evaporate in this uneasy, cold weather.

School children drove past on bikes, laughing at each other, innocent and young.

"Are you sure?" Helen asked. "Abigail, are you sure it wasn't just a dream? A man who looked just like him or wore a similar coat?"

Abigail said nothing.

"I mean, you did just wake up! You told me so yourself!"

Abigail had been awake for hours, but she didn't bother to correct her.

"It was him," Abigail said grim and determined. "I'm not blind. I'd recognise him anywhere."

"Look, I'll call Ben again, all right?" Helen said. "Is that what you want?"

"He won't answer you," Abigail replied.

He was out there, although Helen wouldn't believe her.

"He died, Abby!" Helen said. "I was there in the hospital when it happened, remember?"

"Yes!" Abigail yelled, refusing to be reminded of that dreadful moment in her life.

The images were racing back into her mind, but she ignored them and remained focused on her objective, her goal, her destiny.

She touched the fragile photograph in her pocket, brushed it with her finger as if she could reach out into the photo, into that moment in time and touch Joseph again.

"But I was there! At the funeral!" Abigail snapped. "I saw him get out of his coffin! He was alive! It was him! And I wasn't the only one who saw it, you know!"

"Then why isn't the police all over this?" Helen asked. "We haven't had one phone call! Not even a knock on our door!"

"They could be at your door right now," Abigail said, but Helen immediately used this comment against her.

"Then let's go there! Right now!" she said. "Let's wait for the police! Let them handle this! Let Ben handle this!"

Abigail closed her eyes.

"It's over, Abby. Going on now is just a waste of our time. It's futile!"

Helen calmed down.

"Let's go home," she said to Abigail finally.

Abigail seriously considered abandoning her quest at that moment.

I'll never find him in this big city, she said to herself.

People don't come back from the dead.

I 'm chasing a ghost.

A dream.

A hallucination.

"Abigail! Forget this!" Helen snapped.

"NO!" Abigail yelled. "No, I'm not forgetting this! This happened! This is real! He's out there, and he's waiting for me! He needs me! I need him!

"And I'm not giving up!"

She turned her back on Helen and walked away.

She was mad.

She was absolutely bonkers.

She was a moth drawn to a flame, choosing to follow the path of fate to wherever dark place it might lead her; she followed her heart into the belly of the beast, with a light of hope to light her way into the underworld.

She was a believer.

Abigail walked away from Helen, not knowing that from that moment on she was doomed.


	28. Chapter 28

"Joseph Harvey Milton died in a fight outside a pub in London, some three weeks ago," Jack said.

"Two men assaulted his girlfriend and he tried to step in."

He held the confiscated, old police-report in his hand as he spoke to Ianto and Gwen through his headset.

Owen looked at him through the window of his office, grumpy and dark, with folded arms and his back turned towards the man who not so long ago pointed a gun in his face.

"He saved miss Williams, and they say he even managed to put up quite a fight, right up till the moment one of the attackers pulled a gun on him and fired."

Owen bowed his head and gazed at the ground as he touched his body in his mind, searching for wounds, but in reality he was completely still, and listening to Jack as he unintentionally formed a fist with his right hand.

"They shot him?" Gwen asked shocked.

"They missed," Jack answered, quasi amused.

Owen stopped thinking of his body and instead he suddenly felt himself standing up.

He immediately turned his gaze around at the eyes which had been spying at him since the second he stepped back into the Hub.

They had been talking about him and Owen knew this when they returned inside.

He felt it.

He saw it in their eyes, although Jack on purposely did not look at him directly.

"The bullet smashed the window behind him and no-one really knows exactly how it happens, but a shard of glass managed to pierce his aorta. The internal wound it created was so tiny he bled to death for many hours, until he finally died on the operating table.

"The doctors didn't notice the wound until it was too late."

Neither Ianto or Gwen could look at each other as they sat in the car, but Owen had only eyes for one man, the man he blamed for everything that ever happened to him.

The man who brought him back to life, who gripped his forehead with a mighty, steel and cold touch; the Resurrection Glove which kept him alive, even as his body was destroyed.

"We have the info on the funeral, Jack," Ianto said. "We've interrogated and retconned every witness to the event, well almost everyone."

"Good," Jack said. "Who're you missing?"

"A Miss Abigail Williams and a Mr Ben Milton," Ianto spoke.

Jack let the papers slide from his hand gently, letting it drop onto his desk as he put his hands into his sides and gazed upwards, and Owen wondered whether he knew he was staring at him at that moment.

"I'll run a search," Jack said. "Just send me your reports as soon as you're finished."

Gwen was driving, but could not speak to Jack; her throat seemed too sore and her body too tired.

Ianto glanced at Gwen and he felt sorry for her.

He understood everything she was feeling, but although he had been there, although he stood there at her side, it did not affect him in such a way.

His mind was just different; his emotions cut off.

For a second he analyzed his childhood and life, wondering where this event occurred where he had become so cold.

He was never like this when he still had Lisa…

"In the meantime," Jack said, standing in his office, glancing at a silent Owen, "You two all right?"

Ianto glanced at Gwen again, but Gwen did not look at him; she trusted him to give Jack a good answer.

"Could be better," Ianto spoke, and that was all Jack needed to hear.

"The last few days have been tough," the unstoppable Jack Harkness spoke.

He seemed big as he stood there in his office, but in reality, he always seemed big; bigger than life.

Whenever Jack entered a room his presence would fill every corner and crevice, and even a blind man would turn his head to see who had arrived.

"It's time to come home," Jack spoke to Ianto and Gwen.

"We'll be back within the hour," Ianto said.

"I'll see you then," Jack said, and he ended the conversation.

His eyes looked directly at Owen and suddenly Owen forgot what he was going to say.

Jack approached him and pointed his finger at him, for one whole second before he walked past him.

"You're with me," he simply stated.

Owen didn't understand him, nor did he know why he wanted him to join him.

"What?"

"Mickey, guard the fort while we're away," Jack said.

"Where are you going?" Mickey said.

Owen was wondering the same thing.

"So _now_ you want me to come with you?" Owen said.

Jack glanced at him, but he said nothing.

"If I come back I want to see everything just the way I left it, you got that?" Jack snapped to Mickey as he grabbed his blue coat and put it on.

"Sure," Mickey said, sitting in the couch.

Jack ran towards the door, but Owen didn't move, as he stood by the computers.

"Are you coming?" Jack asked as he adjusted his coat.

Owen reluctantly followed him, but in hindsight he knew that at that moment, following Jack hadn't been an option.

"What are you up to, Jack?" Owen said.

Owen expected Jack to smile, and he did, but it was a strange smile, a sad smile, yet kind, filled with sympathy, nostalgia, and the hint of a surprise.

"You'll see," he said.

They stepped outside, but just before the large door swung shut, Mickey could see Jack pointing at him, saying:

"_Do not sit in my chair!"_

Mickey nodded.

Soon Owen found himself walking across Roald Dahl Pass, past the harbour's dark water and the large, shining silver monument which looked down upon them and stretched on underground, into the place they'd just left.

This and the unnoticeable stone reminded Jack of so many countless things he thought he had forgotten.

A history.

A life.

The sound of water cascading down the structure soon faded away as they walked on, but the smile on Jack's face never disappeared.

"What are you up to, Jack?" Owen asked, as he quickened his pace to keep up with the captain, and to walk beside him, or at least in the wake of Jack's long, blue coat.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to visit an old friend," Jack mysteriously spoke, without looking at Owen.

Owen dodged a lamppost as Jack turned a corner and stepped into a long street.

"Oh, don't give me that crap!" Owen said. "I'm smarter than that!"

Jack chuckled inaudibly.

"You can tell me, Jack!"

People were looking at this strange duo as Owen drew their attention, nearly shouting at the captain as he managed to keep up with his fast, but cool pace.

Jack's chuckle grew into a laugh; he enjoyed the curious, strange looks on the faces of strangers, and some were such cute faces too.

Owen's temper was short, but fiery, and somehow, although he didn't realise it, his neck was itching.

"Where's the fun in telling you now, huh?" Jack said. "Why would I ruin such a good surprise?"

"Spoil the end, give away the punch line of a good joke, I don't care, just tell me," Owen spoke.

Jack didn't laugh this time.

Owen followed Jack still through another street, and an alleyway, and across a patch of grass behind a busstop, not realizing Jack had said something.

The wind was howling in his ears, a deafening noise which drowned out Jack's words.

He said something about a journey.

"Jack, come on!" Owen yelled.

The grass stained Owen's shoes with wet spots of lingering rain.

The air too was still damp, even after so many hours of sunshine.

Jack suddenly stopped, making Owen almost bump into him.

Owen stepped in front of him and looked into his eyes.

"Owen, do you trust me?" Jack asked.

Owen calmed down as he analyzed that ridiculous question in his mind.

His gaze remained as tenacious as ever as he smiled lightly, narrowing his eyes.

"Jack, what…"

"Do you trust me?" Jack repeated more loudly.

Owen looked at Jack with his mouth half open, until he remembered what to say.

"Yes, but…"

"Good!" Jack said, cutting off Owen again, without giving him the chance to say something.

Owen stood there behind the bus stop, confused and waiting, and Jack walked on for several feet until he spoke: "Let's go for a walk!"

Owen followed him, and they did not speak a single word the entire journey.

Not as they walked through the streets of Cardiff and not as they sat on a bus, spied and goggled upon by their fellow passengers.

It was not until they reached the large iron gates of a massive cemetery that Jack spoke again.

"We're here."


	29. Chapter 29

Her body was trembling by the amount of caffeine in her system, yet at the same time she was so exhausted she could barely stand.

She touched her cold forehead with the back of her hand as she stumbled into the Hub, following Ianto without thinking.

All she knew was that she wanted to close her eyes and nestle underneath a warm sheet, listening to her husband's sweet words.

"Are you all right?" Ianto asked. "Gwen?"

The haunting eyes of the begging old man still doomed in front of her wherever she looked.

She could still hear the sound of the old antique clock on the wall of the Milton's living room ringing three times.

She lowered her hand and smiled at Ianto.

"Oh, I'm fine," Gwen spoke as she looked up, climbing the staircase and analyzing the chamber with her eyes.

The Hub was empty.

She hadn't seen it like this in quite some time.

"Jack?" she said; her voice nearly echoed through the Hub.

"Gwen?" Ianto said, but Gwen didn't look back as she continued her search for Jack.

"Jack!"

"You hadn't spoken a word to me the entire drive over here," Ianto said.

Gwen looked at Ianto, and for a moment she saw the shadow of John Lumic reflected in his eyes.

Then she saw the honest worried look in Ianto's eyes.

He stood there in his black suit and red tie, awaiting her response, seemingly patient and passive, but Gwen knew he was watching her keenly, and he would jump to help her the second she displayed any sign of sickness.

"I'm fine, Ianto," Gwen said, and Ianto nodded curtly with a friendly sparkle in his eye.

She tried to convince herself she had done the right thing, the job she signed up for, the job she loved, the duty she was expected, and ordered, to carry out.

They stayed, watching as they made sure Mrs. Milton and Mr. Lumic drank the entire content of the coffee, and Gwen said nothing, except the standard lies she once spoke truthfully.

But that was a long time ago.

The data on the computer had been easily erased; Ianto had his own ways to do this, which even Gwen didn't know.

It almost seemed like a routine job, for they did it so easily, so quickly, as they removed the traces of their presence from the house, removing all evidence which could remind them of Joseph Milton's remarkable resurrection.

Gwen searched the Hub for any sign of Owen and Jack, but found nothing.

"Mickey?" she cried, but even he did not return her calls.

"I found him," Ianto suddenly said, and Gwen turned around to see Ianto in Jack's office.

"Jack?" she asked.

"No," Ianto said, pointing at the screens. "Mickey."

She walked towards Jack's office, gazing at Ianto, wondering how he could keep that straight face so easily, how he could keep on smiling, even after everything he's been through.

They had both gazed upon the sleeping Amanda Milton, knowing what would happen when she would finally wake up.

Yet they stood there, gazing at her as she snored.

She seemed so at peace, so happy.

"He's coming down," Ianto said, watching Mickey on the screen.

The cameras were filming him as he stood above ground at Roald Dahl Pass, fleeing towards the unnoticeable stone.

"What's he doing up there?" Gwen spoke as she hurried down towards the area where Mickey was descending down. "Get him down!"

Only Ianto noticed the strange appearance of a woman in a grey raincoat, standing on the edge of the screen, watching the spot where Mickey had just disappeared into the ground.

* * *

They walked through the cemetery at a steady pace, past headstones and statues of weeping angels as they strayed off the path of gravel and stones.

A chilly wind howled through the trees, although Owen could not feel it.

It made Jack's hair dance, and his long, blue coat as well, as they moved on through the large cemetery, which held at least a hundred graves.

They were not alone.

More people, dressed in black, came to show their respect to their lost loved ones, placing flowers by the headstones which showed them their names and times of birth and death.

A life, summarized by two lines.

Owen looked at how a little girl cradled the leg of her mother as she wept.

Owen looked away; he could never stand the sight of a crying child.

Children shouldn't cry tears of sadness.

The sounds of cars was heard in the distance as they slowly drove past the cemetery, through puddles of water and wet asphalt.

Willows in the distance were dancing to a slow, sad rhythm as the wind brushed its leaves.

Owen wanted to ask Jack what they were doing here, but it felt such a stupid question.

They were surrounded by tombstones.

Surely they weren't going to play basketball.

Dead men and women and children were buried beneath their feet, beneath the withered grass and wet soil on which they tread.

They were stepping on history, on the lives of people who shaped the world they lived in, just as they are doing now.

Owen looked upon the ground, until Jack's coat and shoes caught his eyes.

The immortal Jack Harkness had been around for hundreds of years, even before Owen was born.

Yet he was born in the 51st century.

This is not his world, yet he defended it with everything he got.

Jack glanced over his shoulder at Owen, so swiftly Owen could not read the expression on his face.

"We're here," Jack spoke softly.

Owen was surprised to hear this.

He stopped at Jack's side and looked around him.

"What?" Owen asked. "Is this what you wanted me to see?"

Owen looked around at the last resting place of so many people, yet Jack's eyes gazed only at one stone, right in front of him.

"Is this why you brought me here?"

Owen still didn't see it, even as Jack kneeled down in front of one tombstone, sitting down on one knee as he solemnly placed his hands on the other.

"Hello," Jack spoke, seemingly to thin air, but when Owen finally looked, he recognised the name on the tombstone in front of Jack.

He was so shocked he couldn't say anything.

He just stood there, frozen, as Jack started talking.

"It's been a while since we last spoke,"

Jack smiled faintly as the wind howled in their ears.

He laughed to hide his own sadness and break the tension he alone could feel.

"I was afraid to come here," Jack said. "I was afraid to confess to myself it was all over, to admit she could never come back. But she can't."

She can't.

A hint of red coloured Jack's cheeks as he placed his hand on the tombstone of Toshiko's mother, as if he could reach out to her by touching the cold stone.

Owen watched how he slowly got up on his feet.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, gazing down upon the grave. "I'm so sorry, but she's dead. Toshiko's dead."

Owen didn't want to be remembered of her, the woman whose love he intentionally ignored.

He preferred the lies, just like Jack did.

"Your daughter had an amazing life," Jack said. "I made sure of it."

He laughed with tears in his eyes.

"There's so much I still want to tell you. So many great memories of your magnificent daughter."

He touched the tombstone one final time, and Owen glanced at the words inscribed in the stone, displaying the time of her birth and the time of her death, so long ago.

Owen remembered how much Toshiko wanted to see her.

Every year at Christmas she was the only one left alone as Gwen, Owen and Ianto went to see their families and friends.

When Gwen finally joined the team, it was her idea to stay with Toshiko and have dinner together.

Owen remembered seeing Toshiko so happy that night, and at the same time he noticed the look in her eyes whenever she looked upon him, but he'd just look the other way.

He should hate himself for doing that, but he didn't.

Toshiko longed for her mother who was long dead, but Jack never told her.

She never knew.

No-one did.

"I'm so sorry," Jack said. "For everything."

Again, he could not cry.

Instead he could scream.

Owen wanted to smash something, punch something, kill it, stomp it, as rage consumed him.

He couldn't leave, but he would fall apart if he stayed there at Jack's side.

He turned around as soon as he could, feeling that angry sadness consume his inside, the only part of his body he could still feel.

He left Jack by the tombstone of Toshiko's mother, and he didn't even head for the exit.

He didn't know where he was headed.

The dead surrounded him, followed him wherever he went.

His kind.

They were all dead.

All dead.

All but him, who was left in this void between dimensions, trapped inside another man's body.

His _man_-suit.

Owen walked through many more tombstones, statues and crosses as he wandered aimlessly through the cemetery.

"How many more lives will I ruin?" he said to himself. "How many more will die because of me?"

Joseph Milton's friends and family had already been hunted down and retconned, their memories, lives and potential taken, the truth obscured.

What if his soul chose to bond itself to someone else?

Some other dead figure, long forgotten and hidden away beneath the ground.

So many dead people to chose from. So many donor bodies, so many suits…

Why Joseph Milton? What did he do wrong?

Did he deserve this?

His flesh and bones taken and used by someone else to play with and misused?

"Why him?" Owen cried as he spun around the cemetery, cradling his insane head as he yelled at the blinding, bright sky. "Why me?"

And suddenly there stood Jack, silent and calm, with his hands in the pockets of his long blue coat.

"Because some things happen for a reason," he said.

Owen calmed down, and his anger subsided, although it was still burning inside him.

The cold, damp air was blowing drops of water in their faces, which slipped from the leaves of the trees above them.

"I don't know if I can believe that," Owen said.

Jack smiled faintly, friendly, for he understood.

"Everyone should have something to live for," he spoke.


	30. Chapter 30

What was his reason to keep on living?

The light at the end of the tunnel he aspired to reach, the top of the staircase he wished to touch, or the dream he desired to turn into reality?

Three square chasms containing nothing but void, draining light out of the world, blinded him in his mind.

Three cards containing all the answers he was looking for, the future he was unable to see.

Truth is, Owen needed nothing.

Not the cold, damp air which lingered upon the cemetery's soft soil, nor the unreachable rays of the sun's light which shined upon them without bringing warmth.

Dark clouds were gathering again; slowly they crept across the horizon once more and no-one knew whether they would reach them or turn away.

The wind was growing in strength, and Jack was waiting patiently for Owen to say his words to Toshiko's mother.

Owen knew it was merely a stone, and the real body of Mrs. Sato was buried beneath him at his feet, inside a large, wooden coffin underneath the ground, and that speaking to this tombstone would be silly, or even idiotic.

However, the words inscribed in the tombstone mesmerised him, for his birth and death were already beyond his grasp, and he still hadn't accepted it, even though it had happened such a long time ago.

His true death, the moment when true oxygen left his lungs and when his heart stopped beating, when the electric synapses of his brain stopped working and his stomach ceased to function.

Yet, although he died, the world kept on spinning.

It is unthinkable, but it is true.

The world survived without Owen Harper, or Toshiko Sato, or her mother, or all these hundreds of people who were resting underneath the cemetery's soil.

Their death changed nothing.

Time continued mercilessly, and the past faded away in its wake, eaten by the invisible monsters of oblivion and death; the boundaries of time which binds mortal men and woman inside the present, the fleeting, uncatchable second on the clock which goes on forever, unstoppable even after the clock has stopped to tick.

For time might have been a human invention, but the deterioration and unending aging of the universe must surely be an invention of God, even in places where the sun shines forever and the darkness dare not tread.

It is inevitable that all things must end.

Owen turned his back on the tombstone without saying anything, hoping that Toshiko's mother would understand.

Jack slightly bowed his head, before he gazed out in front of him as Owen stepped beside him, and gazed the other way.

"Did you tell my mother?" Owen asked. "Does she know her son is dead?"

Jack silently gazed in front of him as the wind brushed his face and hair.

Owen tried not to glance at him as he waited for an answer, and he didn't know whether he was hesitating or waiting, or thinking of ways to answer Owen's question without upsetting him.

"Forget it," Owen spoke quickly as Jack drew breath and opened his mouth to speak.

Owen cut him off before he could say anything, for ultimately he didn't want to hear how his sad, old mother would've reacted to the news of her son's death.

He wondered whether she cried, if she'd ever shed one tear of true sadness for his demise or his departure, the day he left his parents' house never to return again.

"Never mind," Owen said. "I don't want to know."

He preferred the way he remembered her now, in this fake memory he had imagined himself, in which his aged, grey and fat mother read the letter stating her son's death and silently sobbed on the sofa, letting only one single tear escape the fortress of her evil eyes.

Owen gazed out in front of him, at the cemetery's exit, the big, black gate, with a frozen face filled with an angry sadness.

Jack gazed upon Owen with sympathy in his eyes.

Owen glanced at the hand Jack laid upon his shoulder with mixed, uncomfortable feelings, but Jack merely smiled.

"Let's go home," Jack said.

Owen closed his eyes and pictured his home inside his head, and it wasn't the Hub, or his apartment.

It was the house he grew up in, the house he left behind, the house he feared to return to…

But it was too late now, anyway.

They would not recognise this dead man's face, but see a stranger standing in the doorway with the voice of their son…

* * *

Had he recognised him?

Her heart was beating inside her chest.

Abigail looked up at the bright, clouded sky and begged for help.

She didn't know what had just happened.

She paced around the glass waterfall at the centre of Roald Dahl Pass, glancing at the distant water in the harbour ever so often as a cold wind touched her face, searching for the man who had just disappeared…

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" Gwen yelled at Mickey when he finally got to her level.

The lift was still in motion and Mickey was hesitant to answer her, still in shock by his encounter above as he slowly came down.

"I was just…" he tried to say, but Gwen didn't let him continue.

"You left the Hub unguarded!"

"You do that all the time!" Mickey replied.

"Not without activating the Hub's security system, you idiot!" Gwen spoke as she put her arms in her side. "Did you know you were locking yourself outside?!"

"No, I didn't!" Mickey said, as he got off the lift. "I was only popping up for a quick fag, so I set the machine to lower me down after ten minutes! How was I to know she would be there?"

"Or that we'd be coming back so soon?" Gwen snapped.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "And that."

"Send the lift back up!" Ianto suddenly yelled as he rushed past them, pressing the red button of the lift with a flat push.

Mickey quickly jumped down from the lift as the machine went back up.

"Ianto?" Gwen asked.

"She's still there," Ianto said.

"Who is?" Mickey said. "That girl?"

"That's Abigail Williams," Ianto said, looking up at the lift which slowly ascended into the air, so that the grey stone could return to its original place in the street above.

Gwen rushed back into Jack's office to call Jack using the headsets. "I'm calling Jack!"

Ianto narrowed his eyes as he looked at how the lift went up still.

Gwen glanced at the monitors in Jack's office, seeing how a girl wearing a grey raincoat wandered the area in front of the waterfall.

She stood only a few steps away from the unnoticeable, hollow place in the street, which lead into the heart of Torchwood.

"Is she still near it?" Mickey asked, looking up to where Ianto was looking. "Could she fall in?"

"If she's not careful, yes," Ianto said.

"What if she does fall?" Mickey asked.

"Then it's your fault she dies," Ianto spoke.

Gwen rushed back, wiping away the sweat, along with a few locks of her black hair, from her forehead and eyes.

"Jack's not responding!"

Gwen said as she clutched the orange railing in her hands as she looked down on Mickey and Ianto.

"I'm taking command!"

"I concur!" Ianto replied.

Mickey looked back from one to the other in confusion.

"It works that easily, eh?" he said to Ianto.

"Mickey!" Gwen shouted, ordering him to follow her.

Ianto watched how the lift returned to its spot in the street, closing the secret entrance to the Torchwood Hub, locking it, and turning it unnoticeable to anyone but those who know it's there, invisible to the naked eye.

And Abigail Williams saw nothing, but the black water of the harbour in the distance.


	31. Chapter 31

Mickey sat in the soft, brown sofa; its tough leather was worn down and stitched at several places, for the old couch had lost its strength thirty years ago.

The short table which touched his knees was covered in paperwork and old newspapers with round stains on them; souvenirs of various coffee mugs which have stood there day by day, with this day being the exception.

Ianto stood in front of him, tall and strong, with his arms folded together and his gaze strict and silent.

The soft fabric of his suit collided as his arms were held together by a firm lock.

Mickey noticed a slight smile on Ianto's face, but only for a second as Gwen returned, agitated, uneasy and seemingly stressed, from Jack's office.

Gwen's red shirt was the same colour of Ianto's tie.

"Are you sure?" Gwen asked Ianto.

"Definitely," he spoke as he glanced at her, and Gwen suddenly seemed stronger and more secure, knowing Ianto was certain. "I remember seeing her on the photos in the old couple's house, and then again in Joseph's bedroom."

Gwen turned to Mickey, gazing down at him as he sat in the leather sofa, fearing their gaze as if he had done something wrong, as if he was a child who had broken a precious vase and he was about to be punished or corrected.

"Who was she?" Mickey asked as he slightly leaned forward and glanced from Ianto to Gwen in search for answers. "She had a picture of Joseph, I mean Owen…"

"A picture?" Gwen asked.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "She showed it to me."

Mickey was baffled.

He still didn't understand.

First he saw him standing there in the middle of the Hub, right in front of him.

A dead man, a man who _should_ be dead.

But did he die?

They never did find out.

"Is she his girlfriend?" Mickey asked.

Neither Gwen or Ianto said anything, as if Mickey wasn't supposed to know, or wasn't authorised to know.

"Tell us how you met her," Gwen said. "What did she say?"

Mickey was searching for words to tell Gwen, of how he met Abigail Williams above ground, with a howling wind in his ears and a shivering cold which spread across his back.

It was much warmer down here, in the Hub.

"She was just there," Mickey said. "I can't remember. I think she said hello."

Gwen and Ianto didn't interrupt him; all Ianto did was look to his right, to check upon the small, lonely figure centred on one of the monitors.

Mickey wondered if she was still out there.

Mickey tried to remember how he tried to light a cigarette with his lighter, but the wind kept blowing it out.

He remembered how she laughed at him.

He tried to remember, but all he could think of was the face in that picture, the face of a man who deserved to die, who should be dead to begin with.

Joseph Milton: John Lumic's nephew.

His inspiration.

His motivation.

The heart and soul of the Cybermen's creation, which is ironic, considering they were the ones who took the heart and soul away from humans, and turning them into machines.

"But what does Owen have to do with this?" Mickey asked. "Why is he in Joseph's body, or was that just a lie? You're covering something up, aren't you?"

"No, Mickey, we're not," Gwen tried to say.

"Tell me the truth," Mickey said. "Is he really Joseph Milton?"

Ianto glanced at Gwen and he patiently waited for Gwen to decide what to tell him.

With every witness they questioned they started to form together the pieces of the puzzle concerning Owen's apparent resurrection, and what happened at that funeral.

Concerning Resurrection Gloves and the appearance of Death, searching for thirteen souls to conquer the world, it wasn't that easy to explain really.

"It's complicated," Gwen said finally.

* * *

Jack had told Owen everything about his theory, which seemed the most plausible idea out of everything.

He had told him in the Hub, but it took a while for this information to finally sink into Owen's mind.

Like he wasn't listening properly at the time, and the words were now carried by the wind into his ears.

Words and half sentences, ripped apart and all jumbled up and now Owen had to put it all together again.

Still the idea of a stolen Earth seemed so impossible to Owen, like something out of a dream, it couldn't have happened.

But apparently it did.

And as the Earth was gone, Owen's soul was left behind and almost doomed to wander space in search for a host body.

It glided through outer space, like a leaf caught in a breeze, away forever into the wild, dark unknown.

Then the Earth was saved and returned to its original place, and Owen's soul was sucked back by gravity, towards the world which left him behind.

That's why it took so long for him to return.

* * *

Mickey's life was ruined the day his life intertwined with the life of a certain time-traveller.

Gwen and Ianto's words actually made sense.

Everything did.

Who would've thought Mickey Smith, a few years back, Mickey Smith would be sitting here, talking about aliens and energy and resurrections.

Impossible things made possible, made real.

An entire universe of possibility was opened up to Mickey Smith, but sometimes he still wondered what would've happened if Rose hadn't decided to go with him, or what would've happened if the Doctor hadn't decided to come back.

One decision changed an entire world.

Joseph Milton's decision changed his.

After the Cybermen disappeared, Mickey lead a group of men into Lumic's factories and they found the plans for the Cybermen, their design, their entire history written down from the day the first metal boot was created.

Entire departments, under orders by Pete Tyler, investigated these archives and discovered the roots of the Cybermen, leading all the way back to the pains of two men.

John Lumic's quest for survival combined with the grief of Joseph Milton over the death of his love.

And Mickey wondered if that was Abigail Williams.

If her death triggered all that suffering and pain on the reality he had turned his back on.

Joseph didn't want to live anymore.

Consumed by grief he screamed at the world, begging for death as he searched for his loved one in the afterlife.

The pain was too much to bear, and John Lumic pitied him and was inspired to take away all emotion from a human being.

And there would be no more pain.

Joseph Milton subsequently became the very first Cyberman, as he turned his back on everything just to stop the sadness, and in the process he turned that hollow feeling inside his chest into a reality.

However, there are reports which contradict this, which tell how he aborted the sequence just before it started.

They sought Joseph Milton, but found no trace of him, leading the world to believe he was gone, along with the Cybermen.

John Lumic's sympathy towards this young man doomed that world.

Now, as Mickey's mind brought back the wrinkled picture Abigail Williams held out in front of him, he couldn't help but wonder what was about to happen to this world, where everything seemed to connect with a certain Joseph Milton once more.

HR

Why Joseph Milton?

Out of all the people in the world who have died across centuries and centuries, why did Owen have to come into possession of his?

Owen and Jack walked past Roald Dahl Pass, towards the Hub, and Owen gazed down into the black water of the harbour where he could see a different world reflected upon the water's surface.

The face of Joseph Milton looked back at him solemnly.

Realities, lives and the fate of the world seemed to intertwine, converging, connecting to him...

A mirrored life, separated by choice, but was it also a shared destiny?

No-one could know but the mysterious cards...

The face of Joseph Milton was warning him about the future and the choices he would soon make.

"Maybe things are happening for a reason," Owen thought to himself ominously.


	32. Chapter 32

The dark Hub was lit up as the great, round door opened up with a whizzing sound.

Its heavy metal was mechanically swept aside to reveal two men standing in the entrance.

One was wearing a black, leather vest and he was slightly hunched and extremely pale, his lips slightly puckered as his eyes adjusted to see inside the darkness.

The other stood in front of him, smiling as he stood in the door's opening wearing a long, blue pea coat, matching trousers with suspenders and a light blue sweater underneath; his arms were hanging by his sides, as he strode confidently into the large Hub: his home and hide-out, his headquarters and haven.

"We're home!" Jack cried as he walked up the metal staircase, clutching the cold, metal railings with his hands.

Owen lingered however as he slowly turned right, hearing Jack's cries as he walked across the improvised, wooden bridge which helped him across the small, unstable patch of dirt and water, created mainly by the foundations of the enormous, glass structure at the centre of the Hub; an endless river of water cascaded down the side of this giant, silver monument which buried itself even deeper into the ground.

Owen turned its back on it and continued on over more stable ground as he sometimes glanced up at Jack who searched for signs of life in this dark place.

"Jack!" a voice suddenly cried.

Gwen pushed open the glass doors of the conference room and rushed to the metal railings.

"We're up here!" she said as she tightly grabbed hold of the cold metal railings.

Ianto slipped through the opening of the glass door to join Gwen.

"We've been calling you for hours, Jack," Gwen asked. "Where've you been?"

The captain looked up at her, kind but defensive as his eyes filled with strength.

"I was keeping a promise," Jack said.

Gwen and Ianto looked down and saw Owen standing below her, looking up at her.

For a moment she wondered where they had gone, before her logic took control, telling her to focus.

"We have a situation here," Gwen said, and before she could say more Ianto stepped away and quickly opened the glass door to be able to shout inside the conference room:

"Mickey! We need you!"

Owen watched how they hurried across the metal paths, through the botanic section and down the large, spiralling staircase past the retrograde gamecomputers and the door which lead to the interrogation-room.

"No use entering messages on my voicemail," Jack said, looking serious as he gazed at Ianto, as he put down his headset on Toshiko's old desk when they approached him.

"We found her," Gwen said and Jack got serious. "Abigail Williams."

"The girlfriend?" Jack asked.

"The fiancée," Ianto corrected.

"Where?"

"Up there," Mickey spoke hesitantly cool as he leaned back against the metal railing and pointed his finger upwards.

Jack didn't get him and glanced at Gwen and Ianto confused. "What?"

"He's not joking," Ianto said. "It literally happened right there."

* * *

As Jack listened to Mickey and watched the footage of the CCTV network he seemed to calm down.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled at Mickey.

He raised his hand and curled two fingers towards each other.

"We were this close to being exposed!" he said angrily with a trembling hand as he showed Mickey how close it was. "A hundred years this place has been here and you almost wrecked it all in one single moment! You do realise how lucky you've just been, right?"

"Does it matter?" Mickey said. "I found her, didn't I? I found Abigail Williams!"

"No," Jack said. "She found you."

Mickey swallowed.

"Now we've got to find her, before it's too late," Jack spoke. "We can't afford to lose her. This thing has spread too far already!"

"You're acting as if this is all our fault," Gwen said.

"No," Owen said as he joined them, standing in the main section of the Torchwood Hub, near the work stations and Jack's office. "It's mine."

Ianto looked around to glance at Owen, and their eyes met, but they said nothing.

"For once in my life everything actually is revolving around me," Owen went on.

"Don't get cocky!" Jack said as he pointed his finger at Owen, who couldn't help but smile, but before Owen could say anything Jack snapped and stepped in.

"Listen!" Jack spoke. "We do _not_ have time for this! Gwen! I want you to search the CCTV network and find Abigail Williams. Use Mickey's 'incident' as a reference and starting point for your search and find her last known location. See where she is headed and patch into whatever camera network you can find. Shops. Security-systems…"

Gwen nodded and immediately jumped in front of her computer.

"I'll help her!" Mickey spoke.

"No!" Jack said. "You're coming with me!"

Jack signed Ianto with a nudge with his head to follow him, before he continued talking to Mickey.

"I need someone I can depend on behind that computer," Jack said.

"I can work with computers! I'm a computer genius!"

"She's got more experience with this, trust me…"Jack went on.

Ianto passed him, already wearing his coat as he placed a small disc by Gwen's hands.

"You're going to need this," Ianto said to Gwen with a smile as she looked up surprised. "They're satellite updates."

"Thanks," Gwen said.

"But…" Mickey protested.

"Mickey!" Jack yelled. "That's an order!"

"We don't have to do this," Owen said, seemingly unheard by the others.

Those innocent people didn't have to suffer for him.

Their memories don't have to be erased.

Jack sighed.

Ianto would've kept on walking if Owen hadn't raised his voice at that moment.

"Can I just say something?" Owen said. "Can the dead man have a say in this?"

It was like he was ignored by them all of a sudden. It seemed everything revolved around him, but he wasn't fit into their plans at all.

It was like he was this giant pause in the conversation; a silence nobody dared to pierce.

He was a taboo, a well-known secret everybody kept, an unspeakable name nobody dared to say out loud.

"I'm right here!"

"I'm sorry, Owen!" Jack said. "But there isn't time to argue!"

"Doesn't anyone think this is wrong?" Owen said, waving his hands around erratically to enforce his words.

Even Jack was silenced as everyone looked at Owen.

"We have to do this, Owen," Gwen said to him and Owen glanced at her, just for a moment, like he hadn't seen her before.

"Because Jack tells you to?" Owen snapped.

Jack grimaced at Owen as he clenched his jaws, but then he calmed down, gazing into Owen's regretful eyes.

He was standing up for what he believed in, and there was nothing wrong about that.

Their friendship would not change; hell, there was a good chance they would spend eternity together, as they were both unable to die.

The man who couldn't die, and the man who could never truly be alive.

Life and Death, living together in this Hub; it all sounded like a bad sitcom, which Owen couldn't help but mock.

It was in his nature.

It was in his nature to mock this world, especially now since he's officially no longer part of it.

"There's no need for them to suffer as well," Owen spoke. "They shouldn't suffer, just because I came back. Just because I exist! It's not right!"

His eyes wavered as he looked across the rooms into the eyes of his friends.

"It's not fair," Owen added as he gazed into Jack's eyes.

Ianto patiently awaited the outcome of this argument, as he waited for orders.

He patiently closed his eyes and stopped his thoughts from forming an opinion, stopping him from picking a side or betraying Jack.

It stopped him from caring.

"You're right," Jack said to Owen. "It isn't fair.

"But it never is." he concluded.

He turned his back on Owen and Gwen, signing Mickey and Ianto to follow him to the door, but before he reached the small stairs he turned around and gazed at Owen again.

"Mankind isn't ready," he said, shaking his head solemnly.

"When will they be?" Owen asked the darkness as they left the Hub.

Gwen heard his words, his whispers as he looked at the ground in dismay.

But they had been right.

He was a secret.

The tale of the existence of this resurrected man of glass who escaped and defeated Death and was now doomed to roam the world forever would never be allowed to be told outside this Hub.

He would spend eternity locked up inside this vault of secrets, next to the sacrificed dead, stored memories and conquered nightmares, where the shadows would be his friends and the monsters in the basement his only company, if it were up to Jack.

Owen tried to ignore the dark thoughts which took over his mind, knowing all too well the essence of truth inside every one of them.

Jack was his his leader, his teacher, his protector, but also his friend and mentor.

His eternal companion.

But was Owen really looking forward to an eternity with Captain Jack Harkness?

He would spend the rest of his life trapped in the blinding shadow of the dashing immortal captain.

The defender of the Earth; the path Jack had chosen, the destiny he had embraced.

Owen looked around at the Hub which Jack called home.

But he didn't.

Not anymore.


	33. Chapter 33

The black SUV raged through the bright streets of Cardiff, daring the cold winds with a mighty heart.

Ianto never looked outside at the road, or at the city around him.

Jack turned the steering wheel Mickey held on tightly to the leather backseat, counting every orange light he could see with a fearful, mumbling tongue.

Jack pushed the pedal down even more, only stopping once for a pedestrian crossing once.

"You're mad, Jack!" Mickey gasped as he was finally able to breathe safely once more, without fearing a heart-attack. "Flippin'!"

"Well, I'm in a hurry!" Jack cried fiercely, as he sped up the SUV again and they were all pushed back into their seats.

Ianto glanced upwards only once to look danger in the eyes as the car's noise increased.

Other drivers quickly dodged the mad, black SUV which raced through the streets.

Ianto was analyzing the data Gwen was sending him on to his palm point, back in the Torchwood Hub.

"She's found her," Ianto spoke, leaning forward to point Jack into the right direction. "Turn left here."

Any members of traffic-police who reported this strange phenomenon of the black SUV were told to ignore the vehicle and continue like nothing happened.

* * *

The sun was hidden behind clouds and obscured by large buildings.

Colourful flags, attached to shops on either side of the busy shopping street, showing the names of the stores, danced erratically in the strong wind.

With her hands dug in her pockets, Abigail Williams walked through the crowd of people, not knowing which way she was going.

All she knew was she was without answers, alone and starving.

She was playing with the few coins she had left in her pocket, and which she desired to spend on food.

Not caring what she would eventually cram down her sore throat, she quickly entered the nearest McDonalds she laid her eyes on and joined the queue to the counter.

Lost in thoughts, she gazed down, noticing some fallen pieces of lettuce and tomato on the floor.

She purposely chose not to gaze at the happy couple who sat by the door, or the family who sat in the corner.

Abigail felt like she was being watched, ever since she saw that man run away from Joseph's picture with the look of a ghost on his face.

She turned around and gazed at the glass doors of the exit and entrance and the camera which looked at everyone who entered the building, monitoring, watching and recording every single beam of light in the room, and it wasn't the only camera in here.

"Miss?" the Asian girl at the counter asked and Abigail quickly turned around.

She hadn't expected to be serviced so quickly; she thought the people in front of her would take much more time than this, or had she really been daydreaming for so many minutes?

She gazed at the menu, trying to forget the image of the camera's dark eye which seemed to haunt her eyes that moment.

"Just some fries," Abigail said to the girl behind the counter in the blue uniform.

"Small, medium or large?" the girl asked with a forced smile.

Abigail cursed herself for being so inattentive and unfocused.

"Medium," Abigail said as she got her hand with money out of her pocket.

For a moment she gazed into the girl's eyes, wondering how she would react if she would show her the picture.

"Do you want any sauce with that?" the girl behind the counter asked.

She almost reached down into her pocket to grab it, until finally she changed her mind.

"No, thank you."

After paying she grabbed the plate out of the girl's hands, and immediately disposed of the plate.

She walked outside with the small pack of fries in her hands, not looking where she was walking and she positioned herself outside the massive flow of people which walked in and out of the busy shopping street.

She leaned with her back against the wall and started eating her meal, although she didn't enjoy it.

Her mind was too far away to be able to sense the tastes of her mouth.

The small, yellow fries were warm, though, she felt it, but they were also gone before she even started to enjoy it.

The cardboard box the fries were contained in dropped from her weak, salty hands and on to the filthy street.

And Abigail too lowered herself down to the ground, until she was squatting, still leaning with her back against the brick wall, and able to see the small, red box rustle across the street's stones, out of sight.

She was tired and she wanted to close her eyes, but her soul fought against the weariness and the pain of her own body, forcing her to go on.

Abigail didn't even need to take the photo out of her pocket again, for if she closed her eyes she could picture it in front of her and she could feel the memory come to life once more.

Her cheek pressed against his cheek as their eyes gazed into the camera's flash for that one immortal moment.

In her mind the moment went on forever and she could see vividly how she put the camera away and kissed her fiancée on his lips and he laughed.

She could still feel the small, tiny hairs of his one-day old beard on her lips and cheeks, rugged, tickly and sensitive.

"Abigail?" a voice spoke and Abigail looked up.

The sun broke through the clouds and blinded Abby for a moment, creating a silhouette around the person who reached a hand towards her at that point.

"Abigail Williams?"

Abby took his hand and let herself be lifted up from the cold street, and as the sun disappeared from her line of sight she gazed directly into the eyes of Mickey Smith.

"You!" she gasped, before a swift surge of electricity knocked her out, and the last thing she saw before she passed out was how she was carried through a dark alley-way, away from the busy shopping street.

* * *

At that exact same moment, only two seconds earlier, the sun broke through and lit up another part of the city as well.

Philip twitched as the sun blinded him and held up his hand to block the sun out.

He dragged his old feet back to the place he had left that very afternoon, the old, metal bench by the docks where he used to fish and dream about the past.

"How could I've forgotten?" he mumbled to himself. "How could I've forgotten to take it with me?"

The old man scratched his beard as he approached the metal bench, and in the sun's light he could see the fishing rod he forgot to bring home with him and a small box full of bait.

"There it is!" he exclaimed softly.

Then the sun faded away behind the clouds, and finally behind the city as the sun's position in the sky lowered and lowered.

The sun was slowly setting and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The shadows grew longer and longer, and now everything turned grey as the sun disappeared behind the city's skyline, their rays of light blocked by the city's buildings.

Philip would've gone home if he hadn't been startled by something he saw in the water.

For all he knew it could've been just a fish, or the first drop of water which falls from the sky (the first sign and omen of a great storm), but something started drawing him closer to the ripples in the water.

Again a ripple spread across the water's surface, soundless and swift it widened and widened until it faded into the blackness itself.

Philip nudged himself closer and closer, clutching his old fishing rod in one hand and the handle of the box of bait in the other.

Suddenly there it was.

Soundlessly and gracefully a man rose up from the water, but not a diver or swimmer gasping for breath.

He rose up entirely from the depths of the harbour and emerged from the black water untouched, and perfectly dry, wearing a black robe and hood and holding a rusty scythe in his hands.

He seemed human, but his hands were uncommonly pale and so was his face which he hid beneath the shadow of his hood, through which Philip's eyes could not look.

The hooded man emerged from the water like water soaking up ink, only here in reverse, as if the man was sucked back out of the water.

He stood on the water's surface, leaving behind a gap of clear water in the spot where he emerged.

He keenly stepped on to land as if it were just another step, and Philip could think of nothing to say.

He froze as he watched the hooded man approach.

And he was not the only one.

No, more and more hooded men rose up from the water; their robes seemed part liquid somehow, for as the men emerged it seemed as if the water itself took shape above its own dark surface.

And finally the darkness disappeared, and instead it took shape in these strange people who stepped before him silently.

The hooded man started to surround him and Philip dropped his fishing rod and box of bait, desiring to run away, but it was already too late.

One swift and subtle motion of a deadly scythe and Philip's skull was sliced in half.


	34. Chapter 34

"Don't deny it," Owen said.

He sat slouched on top of the table in the debriefing-room, kicking over empty, but dirty plastic cups which stood on the table, with his hands as a sign of protest.

He laid himself down completely on his back, on top of the table, kicking over the chair he had put his feet on moments earlier.

It landed backwards on the floor with a bang in front of Gwen's feet, startling her, but Owen didn't care.

He was deliberately making a scene.

He yelled at the ceiling as he strained his muscles, stretching his arms out to the limit.

If he had started kicking with his feet in the air he would've seemed like an overgrown toddler who refused to surrender to his mother's will.

Then he stopped.

"It's all my fault," Owen said.

Gwen wanted to approach him, comfort him, but she rightly suspected that this moment of calmness would not last long.

She feared to be attacked in his vengeful rage at the universe and fate and God.

Helpless he lay there in the full light of the lamps over the table, staring right at them without looking away.

"I should never have come back," Owen said.

As rage took hold of him, he totally lost control.

'I SHOULD NEVER HAVE FUCKING COME BACK!!!" he roared as he kicked whatever seemed to be near him.

He kicked over another chair and immediately got up kick the others.

He picked one up and threw it across the room, roaring and steaming with rage.

Then he picked up another chair and prepared to throw again.

"OWEN, NO!!" Gwen cried, but it was already too late.

The chair hit the screen on the wall and it cracked and splintered into pieces.

Owen was gasping for breath as if he still had functioning lungs, as his mind kept telling him they were still working, but the movements he made were nothing but motions of his chest and the lies of his mind.

"I SHOULDN'T BE HERE!!"

Owen's muscles twitched as he startled by the sudden noise of a gunshot in the room.

He looked up at Gwen who held the smoking gun in her hand.

She smiled, with hurt eyes, saying: "Finished?"

Owen continued anyway, approaching Gwen like an enraged animal.

The gun seemed so heavenly and glorious, but Owen knew it could never end his suffering.

It'd only fill his hours with stitching up his wounds.

"Owen Harper!" Gwen yelled. "This may sound incredibly silly to you, but the entire universe does not revolve around you, or your suffering! We're all suffering, one way or the other!"

"This has got nothing to do with me?" Owen asked. "It's got everything to do with me!"

"SHIT HAPPENS!" Gwen yelled. "Now sit down."

Owen remained standing.

"Sit down or I'll shoot a little hole in the middle of your face! You won't feel a thing, but you'll still walk around with a hole in your face for the rest of your life!"

Owen laughed.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said.

"SIT THE FUCK DOWN!" Gwen cried.

"All right, I'm sitting down," Owen said as he put up his arms and gently picked up the chair at his feet and set it upright. "I'm doing it now."

"Thank you," Gwen spoke snappy.

She aimed the weapon away from Owen, but didn't lower it.

"There's a world out there, Owen," Gwen said. "which needs our protection. It's what we signed up for. It's what we do.

"If I need to protect it from you, I will not hesitate to stop you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Owen asked.

"Owen…" Gwen said. "I cannot possibly understand what you are going through right now."

"You can't," Owen said.

"But I know you," Gwen went on. "You're strong. You're going to beat this."

"I don't want to beat this!" Owen yelled. "I want to die!"

He stood up from his seat to approach Gwen slightly.

The gun twitched in Gwen's hand.

"I am nothing more than a disease to this world," Owen said.

"You didn't mean to-"

"I am the sickness!" Owen interrupted. "Me being here is the cause of all this! Those people out there, whose minds are being erased? They are the symptoms! And I am a doctor! And you know what doctors do? They cure diseases. They kill that which threatens the health of their patients, in one way or another."

"No," Gwen tried to say.

"I'm dead!" Owen yelled. "I'm a disease to this man's body, a disease to the world around me! Look at Tosh!

There is only one way to end this, and that is with the death of Owen Harper!"

Another gunshot pierced the air in the room and Owen staggered backwards.

Smoke rose up from Gwen's gun as they gazed upon the hole in Owen's shirt and chest.

Owen closed his eyes.

If he shut them tightly enough, he could pretend he wasn't there, but some place else.

Then he opened them again and looked into Gwen's red eyes.

"Fuck you," Gwen spoke as tears ran down her face.

She dropped the gun and left the room, leaving Owen in the darkness.

He bowed his head, touching the wound in his chest as he gazed at the floor in shame.


	35. Chapter 35

Gwen did not watch how they brought in Abigail Williams, who had no relation to her whatsoever, although they would soon ask her.

She didn't watch as they carried her unconscious body through the Hub.

In the soft light she looked like a sleeping princess, dreaming a beautiful dream which was never meant to be.

Gwen did not see a single dried tear which had flowed from the corner of her eye on to her pale cheek.

Gwen refused to see it; she didn't want to remember.

Instead her shivering fingers typed in a number on her cell-phone and put it to her ear.

Curled up in a dark corner, with her back against the cold wall, her own breathing sounded the roars of an engine, and she tried desperately to ignore her own sniffling as she wiped her eyes time after time, until she could hear a dial tone on the other end of the line.

"Pick up," Gwen muttered as she brushed a strand of her hair out of her face.

Answering machine.

"Rhys, are you there?" Gwen said, sniffling. "Please pick up, Rhys. I really need to hear your voice right now."

She wiped her nose and shivered as a cold chill went down her spine.

She wiped her hand on her trousers and as she did so she brushed her fingers unintentionally on the gritty, cold texture of the bricks she was leaning on.

It itched and hurt.

"Pick up!" she cried, before another taking a deep breath of snot.

"I need your strength. I have to be strong, but I'm not. I need to be. For Owen.

"I always thought he could handle himself, but he's losing it. He's losing everything.

"I'm losing him! And I can't help him. Rhys, please! Are you there?"

Her wet eyes, filled with tears, reflected the damp lights inside the Hub.

She was so incredibly tired, but she neither said it or admitted it to herself.

"There's nothing I can do," she concluded upset.

She realized he wasn't going to pick up, that he'd listen to this later and not hear her cries for maybe a long while.

Where had he gone?

"I'll see you when I get back, all right?" she said. "I…"

She swallowed.

"I love you," she finally said, before he hesitantly ended the conversation by pushing that tiny button with her shivering nail.

She put that same nail against her quivering lip as she sat there in the darkness, waiting for the sun to break through.

* * *

His hollow footfalls echoed through the dark dungeon and Owen slowly forgot how long a time he had already spent here, pacing in front of sleeping beauty's cell.

The Weevils were howling softly in the shadows, sensing the hollow void which was or surrounded his soul.

Owen didn't feel it, nor did he know in any way if it was there, but if he would've ever named the state of his mysterious consciousness which now inhabited this dead man's body, he'd named it that.

His soul.

As a man of science the idea of magic not only appalled him, it frightened him.

The unknown, the impossible, everything he now embodied.

All he could do now was try and find the truth, to make everything make sense, to find the logic within the magic, and the rules of the universe.

"I wish this could've just been a bad dream," Owen said to the unconscious girl inside her cell.

He put his fingers inside the many holes of the glass walls of which her cell consisted, and he playfully pushed himself away, before pulling himself back towards the blonde girl who lay asleep on her grey bed.

Then he let go and continued his pacing, up and down her cell.

"Just a nightmare," Owen said. "We'd wake up, and everything'd be back the way it used to be, perhaps even the way it should be."

He stopped and gazed at the shadows, scratching the hole in his chest and shirt as he ignored the ominous breathing of the Weevil who was gazing at him, grunting and howling as he bowed his monstrous head.

"Tosh would be alive." Owen dared dreaming. "I would be alive."

Then he poked his finger even further through, inside his very flesh.

"And your fiancée would be dead."

He lowered his hand as he glanced at the cold, wet stones at his feet.

"Now I know I'm being selfish," he said to himself.

"Owen," a voice spoke to him, and Owen saw it was Ianto, who had entered the dungeon.

Owen noticed the sad gleam in his unwavering eyes, although his resolve and loyalty remained strong and unbreakable, and Owen knew that this was _his_ path, his penitence.

He was the perfect soldier to Jack's grand general.

"It's time," Ianto said as he stood in the shadow.

Owen's face remained unmoved, like stone, although in his eyes a feeble candlelight flickered, when he subtly nodded his head.

Later he would look back on this moment and wonder why he did not say anything, why he did not try to stop what they were about to do.

But there was no more adrenaline to fire him up, and no more passion to rage through his heart.

There was only the cold.

He closed his eyes, knowing something had to be done, but he just didn't know what.

The destined future remained silent and shapeless in those moments when that long awaited dawn seemed ages away.

* * *

Rhys had heard her call as he was taking a shower.

With his hair and eyes full of shampoo he quickly rushed to wash it off as the phone kept ringing.

He dried himself up a bit, but was still dripping water from the top of his head as he tied a towel around his waist and hurried into the living room.

But by then the answering machine had already taken the call and Gwen was already talking.

_"Rhys, are you there?"_ _Gwen said, sniffling. "Please pick up, Rhys. I really need to hear your voice right now."_

Rhys cursed as he saw what wet stains he left in the rug beneath his feet, gasping for breath as he manoeuvred past furniture to get the phone.

_"Pick up!"_

He knocked over a tiny statue of an elephant which stood on the edge of the large counter which separated the kitchen from the sunny living room.

Bright sunlight was shining through the curtains, but it was already dimming as the hours of the afternoon grew older.

_"I need your strength."_

Looking back and forth between the tiny statue on the floor and the phone which was within his reach, he decided to pick up the elephant first and then grab the phone.

_"I have to be strong, but I'm not."_

Water was dripping endlessly off his body and head as the rug tickled his bare feet.

_"I need to be. For Owen."_

Rhys had reached out his hand to get the phone, but then he suddenly stopped.

His hand hovered in mid-air as if he had suddenly turned to stone.

_"I always thought he could handle himself, but he's losing it. He's losing everything."_

Rhys retracted his hand.

He was shivering and almost shocked by his own decision.

His eyes shifted as he listened to Gwen's voice.

_"I'm losing him! And I can't help him. Rhys, please! Are you there?"_

He almost opened his mouth to respond.

His lips had already separated, before his brain finally told him not to speak.

He could hear her sniffling at the other end, and wiping her snot on her trousers like she always did.

_"There's nothing I can do," she finally said._

Rhys sat himself down next to the phone as he listened to her breathing.

Sunlight blinded him now, so he tried to face the other way, meaning he unintentionally gazed in the direction of the phone with narrowed eyes.

_"I'll see you when I get back, all right?" she said. "I…"_

He knew what came next, and he always loved hearing it.

But it just didn't sound the same as it used to.

_"I love you," she said._

Then she hung up, and the machine silenced.

Instead, a red light started flickering, signalling the presence of a remaining voice message on the device.

Rhys sat there for a while, with his mind lost in thoughts, before he suddenly got up, leaving a large, dark stain of water on the place in the couch where he had sat just down.

He decided he had to get to Gwen as fast as he could.


	36. Chapter 36

Startling awake, Abigail felt nothing but the cold wrapped around her wrist and body, sending shivers across her skin and body, engulfing, penetrating, desecrating her aura.

"Where am I?" she muttered, before her memories rushed back into focus.

Her head was pounding; it had been resting on her chin whilst she slept, until she jolted upright, lingering between the worlds of dreams and nightmares and reality, until she discovered there was no difference.

She gazed in disbelief at the man who sat opposite her, sitting at the same wooden table as she was in this small, dark, cold room with the high ceiling.

It looked like an ancient sewer in there, and it smelled like it too.

The walls were nothing but rust and moisture, and a similar sort of wet touch lingered in the air, as if there was a current of water nearby and a mist of water spread from its cascading surface and into the air around them.

There were bars everywhere and rusty pieces of metal fence which were still attached to their ancient positions in the walls and ceiling, like remnants of an ancient cage.

She rattled the metal cuff around her left wrist against the leg of the chair she was chained to, in an attempt to pull herself free.

She kept doing it until rage and desolation grew and she ultimately started crying and screaming to be released.

"Who are you?" Abigail asked the stranger. "What do you want from me?"

The man sat at the table casually with a calm expression on his face.

He was handsome, but distant, and his smile was kind, but only the vanguard of a deeper threat, the tip of the iceberg of a range of emotions and secrets he hid beneath his charming appearance.

'Information," he said blatantly and utterly simple, as he placed both elbows on the wooden table, and Abigail noticed his American accent.

* * *

Owen was the only one who watched how Jack interrogated Abigail Williams.

He sat in Jack's office, pushing his hand into the surface of Jack's desk.

He glanced at his pale hand, and he watched how the muscles in his hand reacted to the touch of the desk.

Then he lifted his hand from desk the and looked at all the dead veins, the white hue and the colourless fingernails, before he put his hand on the desk again, this time pushing harder and harder as his hand trembled, buckling under the immense pressure and tension which Owen could not feel.

All he could feel was the desk pushing back, his bones unable to push any further and his body buckling under the inability to push beyond the wood, although he heard the desk's legs crackling under the stress of Owen's strength.

Then he stopped again and looked at his hand.

Still, he felt nothing.

His eyes refocused, gazing upon the screen where he could see Abigail's shocked expressions as Jack slid a photograph towards her end of the table.

* * *

"Do you recognise this man?" Jack asked her.

As she glanced down at the photo, Abigal's lip shivered.

Jack's eyes remained completely still and expressionless.

* * *

"Coffee?" Ianto asked, as he approached Gwen who sat at her own workstation, in her own far away dark corner of the Hub, where she had hidden herself from the others.

Gwen was pulled out of her self-induced trance, and let go of the keyboard.

The blue screen was whirring in the background still, searching for any signs of Joseph Milton's brother.

"After what we've been drinking this morning?" Gwen spoke amused. "No thanks."

"I thought as much," Ianto said with a smile, putting his arms behind his back. "That's why I didn't bring anything."

Gwen tilted her head backwards as she slouched back in her chair with a big sigh and smile.

"Thanks for nothing," Gwen said.

"Any time," Ianto spoke with a subtle nod of his head.

Gwen stretched her arms as a new item popped up on blue screen.

"So, anything new?" Ianto asked as he leaned against the edge of her desk.

Gwen sighed a sigh of disappointment, rubbing her face with her hands.

It had been a long day, indeed.

"Nothing," she said exhausted. "It's like he's vanished off the face of the Earth. I'd say we could ask around , but the problem is we sort of wiped the minds of all the witnesses. There's no-one we could ask!"

"And they say I'm stupid," Mickey said as he worked his way down the yellow, metal staircase besides Gwen's workstation. "But this beats everything!"

"We did ask," Gwen said. "No-one knew where he was, and if they'd been lying…"

"They wouldn't remember if they did! Excellent!" Mickey said.

"You're being sarcastic," Ianto said.

"Oh, I am!" Mickey said. "You're wiping people's minds and now it comes back to haunt you. Brilliant!"

His laugh annoyed Gwen.

"We did what we had to do," she said.

"If I disagree," Mickey asked. "Will you retcon me?"

"Was that a joke?" Gwen asked.

"No, I don't think it was," Ianto said.

"Thing is, there were dozens of Daleks in the skies a few months ago, and no-one bothered to retcon them!"

"The Daleks?" Ianto asked confused.

"The people!" Mickey corrected.

"It'd be impossible to do on such a large scale," Ianto spoke, beating Gwen to it as he put his hands in the pockets of his fancy suit.

"And unnecessary," Gwen added.

"And this isn't?" Mickey asked with an air of ridicule and defiance in his attitude and tone. "I just don't get why she's in there. Is it really that important that we wipe her memory?"

"Well, if Jack thinks so, then we do it!" Gwen said.

Mickey just couldn't believe he heard that.

"What, does Jack think he's God or something?" Mickey asked.

"Jack has saved this world more times than you could count!" Gwen spoke spirited.

"Doesn't mean I'm going to worship him," Mickey said. "Just think about it! There are millions of people out there, dying, fighting, going through torture, murder, death, rape! Why don't we give them retcon? Make them forget everything they went through. Wouldn't that be the right thing to do?

"Or isn't it alien enough?" Mickey added.

Gwen stood up from her chair to face Mickey.

"You just don't get it, Mickey," she said. "You don't. We don't hand out prescriptions. We save the world from the most terrible, terrible things…"

"So rape isn't terrible?" Mickey interrupted.

"Don't you talk to me about rape!" Gwen cried, pointing her finger in his face.

Now Mickey finally backed down, knowing he had made a mistake.

"Mickey Smith, we have been doing this for much longer than you are and let me tell you this!" Gwen said. "This isn't about them! It's about us!

"If the people out there find out what we do, what we see, what we know…"

Gwen was trembling.

"They're not ready!" she said.

"I was," Mickey said.

He and an entire world of humans fought of the Cybermen in that parallel world, disabled their factories and drove them into another reality, victorious.

"Just because Jack keeps saying it, doesn't make it true," Mickey said. "I don't know why you people keep seeing him like some kind of God or hero, but he isn't.

"He's human, just like the rest of us." he added.

* * *

They had been lucky to find her, or better yet, that she found them.

The questions that were raised during her interrogation started a strain of thoughts in Owen's mind he could not ignore.

Thing is, Joseph was almost exactly the same age as Owen was when he died, and he couldn't believe it.

He hadn't even thought about it before, but for him to have found a new body who had died at age 28 just like he had would've been unbelievably fortunate and almost impossible.

Or perhaps it just worked that way; maybe his soul latched on to anything similar to his previous body.

Male, approximately the same length, slightly different hair colour, and age.

His perception of self wouldn't have been altered that much, and the transition would've been easier.

If this were true, firstly he would never resurrect into the body of a woman, sadly enough, and secondly, this meant that there were rules to his new form of life.

The rules of the undead and the rules of the Glove.

But what did the rules say about the witnesses?

The ones who are left behind?

Owen couldn't possibly imagine seeing someone he loved rise from the dead, only to be possessed by the spectre of another man, and he couldn't possibly imagine breaking this news to Abigail.

Owen couldn't look away from the woman in that interrogation-room, and although he could not feel anything, he somehow started to feel something for her.

For the boy he now possessed once loved her, once touched her, they laughed and lived and their lips met, before he was taken from her.

Maybe he did not owe anything to Abigail Williams to save her from this dreadful, desolate situation, but he did owe it to Joseph not to let her life and mind be destroyed this day, in the name of Captain Jack Harkness.


	37. Chapter 37

Jack drew breath into his mighty lungs, stretching his muscles upwards as he sat upright in his chair, before he calmly continued his search for the answers he wanted from Abigail William's breath.

A small light hung from the ceiling, shedding inefficient light upon the brown table, and in particular upon the photograph which lay upon its surface.

Its white edges were lit up brightly, blinding Abigail's eyes in this dark and gloomy room.

"I don't care," Abigail said, feeling nothing but cold spread through her chained arm.

She pointlessly rattled the metal of the cuff softly against the metal leg of the chair she was chained to, over and over again, like the endless ticking of a clock.

"Kill me," Abigail said. "I don't care."

She gazed upwards at Jack with hollow eyes and dry lips as her curled blonde and untidy hair fell across one half side of her face.

She was sniffling, but no tears came.

There was no more energy, only pain.

"Kill me!" she cried, finally shedding tears which she forced out of their sockets.

The tears landed on the wooden table, tainting the white edges of the photograph of her dead lover.

"This'll all end," Jack said. "Just tell me what I need to know."

Abigail cried, before unleashing her fury upon the whatever papers lay on the table at that moment.

She wiped files and Joseph's photograph from the table, which now scattered into the air, using her free hand.

She never even once thought of attacking Jack and by any means get out of this cell.

She knew she couldn't take him on.

She was too feeble.

Too weak.

Her cries echoed through the small chamber, haunting the shadows with every ghastly wail, but Jack remained perfectly still and calm.

"I don't care!" she said, trembling on her very feet. "All I want is Joseph! I want Joe back! And I know you have him!"

Jack subtly raised his chin to look her in the eyes, but he didn't give, nor did he give Abby any reason to suspect he was feeling any emotion at that time.

"I saw you!" Abigail cried as she sat down on the edge of her seat.

She could feel the cold metal of the chair through the fabric of her clothing.

"You were with him! I recognise you now! I saw you as clearly as I see you now!"

"Abigail!" Jack spoke loudly, trying to catch her attention, but she wasn't done.

"What have you done to him? Why can't I see him? Tell me where he is! Let me see him! I want to see him now!"

"Abigail," Jack said, pounding the table with his fist.

His piercing eyes gazed through Abigail's very soul.

"The man you know as Joseph Harvey Milton," he said. "is dead."

Abigail wailed, and she moved her body up and down with closed eyes, tilting her head around in circles as she tried to forget what was just said.

Her jaws were clenched together in pure agony and rage as her face slowly turned red in anguish.

"No!" she cried, and she kept on muttering it even when she didn't want to. "You're lying! Why are you doing this?"

It didn't happen.

He didn't die.

He is alive, and she knew it.

"Abigail!" Jack said. "I need your help!"

Abigail looked at him, and she opened her eyes softly.

"I need to know where Joe's brother might be. Ben Milton? Do you remember Ben?"

Then Abigail smiled.

"I know what this is," she said. "This is a cover-up!"

Jack tried to make her stop, but she wouldn't listen.

"This entire thing is a conspiracy! One big cover-up and no-one can know what really happened ! But I do! I know what really happened! I was there! I saw how he stepped out of his own coffin, alive and well, after being pronounced dead two days before!"

As Abigail went on, Jack suddenly stood up from his chair and grabbed the wooden table with two hands and flipped it across the room against the dark wall.

"Now you listen to me!" he yelled in her face as he got up close. "I make the rules down here! I'm asking the questions and you're giving me the answers! Is that clear?"

Abigail had her eyes firmly shut as she faced away from the enraged captain, who intimidated her with deadly success.

She was shivering and sweating on her metal seat.

Jack got even closer as he bend over to look her in the eyes.

"Was Joseph involved in any way with John Lumic?" Jack asked.

Before Abigail could ask 'what?' Jack already started yelling.

"Tell me!"

"John Lumic is his uncle," Abigail said. "Joe used to help him out with special projects. Joe was like a son to him!"

"That wasn't what I asked!" Jack said as he slowly started circling her chair.

He glanced up at the camera before he went on.

"You can't do this to me!" Abigail cried. "I have rights! This isn't Guantanamo Bay!"

"You have no idea what this is, Miss Williams!" Jack spoke. "Start talking!"

She yelled and cried.

"What does Lumic have to do with any of this?" she cried.

"You don't want to know!" Jack said. "Now tell me!"

"John and Joe hadn't spoken to each other in over five years!" Abigail said.

Jack calmed down.

"I think he visited him a few times, but that's it!" she said.

"Where?" Jack asked.

"In prison!" Abigail said. "Joseph was sent to prison for a crime he didn't commit! He was innocent!"

And when he finally got out he was murdered in the dead of night.

"And what about his brother?" Jack asked. "Has he been doing Joseph's little chores whilst he was doing time? He probably has lots of money and nobody knows where he got it from, am I right?"

"I don't know…" Abigail said.

"Where is he now, Abby?" Jack said. "Where is Ben Milton?"

"I don't know!" she said.

She started crying, and Jack finally knew it was time to back down.

He sighed, turned around and looked up at the camera.

"Tell Ianto to bring her back to her cell," he said before looking down upon the crying woman again, without any sign of remorse in his heart.

* * *

Clouds were moving in front of the sun on a day which never seemed to stop being sunny.

Now the sky grew darker as the daylight reached its end.

Rhys Williams drove into the heart of the city, cautious concerning the traffic surrounding him, because of the thoughts which kept on distracting him from the present reality.

"Come on!" he yelled frustratingly at another traffic light which turned red.

Pedestrians walked past the hood of his car and didn't even bother to glance at him as he sat there pining for a green light.

Day turned finally into dusk as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon fully.

Rhys drove onwards through the streets of Cardiff, where the street lights turned on, and in his mind he prepared himself for the worst moment in his life.

Angry at himself he slammed the top of the wheel with the back of his hand.

Conflicted, and lost in thoughts he nearly forgot to brake at another traffic light.

He sighed as his vehicle stopped right before the white line.

He looked into the rear-view mirror and gazed angrily at the reflection of his own eyes, before quickly checking if his hair looked all right.

The day had grown darker and darker by the minute, but it would grow darker.

Lost in earthly concerns, Rhys could not even begin to understand what danger lay in the moving shadows which he could barely see shifting in the corners of his eyes.

It was right there, unseen by human eyes as the darkness grew denser, only to be penetrated by artificial light.

Someone, somewhere, was screaming at the newborn night in terror and approaching death, but Rhys did not know any of this, nor did he even suspect the shadows of hiding such evil beings in the dawn of night, but lucky enough they did not know of Rhys Williams.

Rhys put his foot down and drove off to find a proper place to park, as a man in a black cloak and hood sat crouched on the edge of a roof, looking down on humanly Earth, obscured by shadow.

He held his long and rusty scythe in his hands as he slowly got up.

More hooded figures joined his side, as they merged with the night and disappeared into oblivion, only to watch onwards upon this Earthly soil, with the eyes of vultures, waiting for the scent of their prey and the beckoning fires of their destination.

They only knew it to be hidden within the Earth's soil, buried deep down where only the anointed ones would dwell, the guardians of the Rift, the knights of Torchwood.

They were watching…


	38. Chapter 38

"There will be no-one left to remember Joseph Milton's funeral," Jack said as he let a piece of paper slid from his fingers and land on Owen's workstation.

"And that's a good thing?" Owen asked, and Jack looked at him, but before he could say anything, Mickey interrupted them.

"Will no-one ever wonder what really happened?" he asked, as he sat down slightly on the edge of Owen's workstation, forcing Jack to look away from Owen.

Jack sighed before he spoke.

"Some of them might," he said, glancing at Gwen and Ianto who walked into their area of the Hub side by side. "Most of them will think nothing happened, or assume they had a little bit too much to drink that night. They'll move on eventually."

"Even the stubborn ones." he added when he glanced into Ianto's eyes.

Ianto smiled knowingly.

Gwen stepped towards Jack and he raised his chin, waiting for her to start talking.

"No trace of Ben Milton," Gwen said. "He hasn't accessed his bank account in the last two weeks and he hasn't used his phone in five."

"How much did he withdraw last time?" Jack asked as he read the files Gwen handed over to him, only skimming through the paperwork to see the important data and nothing more.

"200 pounds," Gwen answered.

"Where?" Jack asked.

"Here in Cardiff," Gwen said.

"Excellent," Jack spoke. "Now we have his last known location. Tap into the security camera network and rewind to that time and date. Have you checked his criminal record?"

"It's all in there," Gwen said, pointing at the stack of papers in his hands.

"Some minor offences." she summarized. "Nothing serious."

"Well, get moving!" Jack said as he subtly slammed the stack of papers on the other papers on Owen's workstation. "Find him before this gets out of hand. Don't forget the vicar, who almost phoned the Vatican!"

"He what?" Owen said baffled.

"Saint Owen Harper," Ianto joked.

Owen didn't laugh.

"He would've reported your resurrection as a miracle," Jack explained. "And trust me, we don't want the Vatican to know about this.

"I pissed them off a few centuries back and they haven't forgotten me since!" Jack added with a smile, just to make Gwen smile.

"You what?" Mickey asked, but Jack didn't hear him.

"Do what you do best!" Jack said as he headed off into his office. "In the meantime I'll see what Abigail knows about her brother-in-law!"

"The only reason why she still has her memories," Mickey added silently.

Gwen was looking at her watch in dread as Ianto picked up the stack of paperwork and carried it into Jack's office.

"Thanks, Ianto," he said to him as he neatly placed the papers on his wooden desk.

"It's my job, sir," Ianto said witty, and Jack winked at him.

Ianto smiled and bowed subtly before he left Jack's office, passing by Owen in the doorway.

"Let me talk to her, Jack." Owen said as he entered, catching Jack sorting out some papers, choosing some to take with him to Abigail's next interrogation, to check and verify.

Jack laughed as he raised one finger in front of his face.

"No," he said seriously, pointing at Owen.

"Jack!" Owen cried desperately, but he wouldn't listen.

"Out of the question!" Jack said. "If she sees you it'll only make things worse! Now go help out, Gwen!"

"She doesn't need my help!" Owen said.

"But she could help you!" Jack said, before he walked out of his office with the right paperwork in his hands.

"Very funny!" Owen said.

"I saw how you redecorated the debriefing-room," Jack said. "Nice touch. Are you going to pay for that?"

"Well, she shot me!" Owen said calm, showing the hole in his shirt, as if thereby saying he had already been punished.

"Owen!" Jack said, refusing to give consent. "You can't see her! She can't see you!"

"I owe her!" Owen said. "I owe Joseph!"

"I'm doing this to protect you!" Jack said.

"Well, I don't need protecting!"

"I'm not going to argue!" Jack said. "I'm ordering you to back down! You can't see her, but Mickey on the other hand, can!"

He turned to Mickey who was standing at the centre of the Hub with his arms folded and his eyes glaring at Jack.

"What do you say, Mickey?" Jack said. "Want to play the bad cop?"

Jack didn't look at Owen with a smirk on his face.

His expression was ice cold and emotionless, on the verge of deadly.

"What?" Mickey said and this surprised Jack. "Now you want my opinion?"

"Mickey, not you too!" Jack said.

"What else can I say?" Mickey said. "What do you want to hear?"

"I'm giving you a chance to do something serious, something important, something you've been dying to get your hands on ever since you asked to be part of this team!"

"Yeah, well I don't want to anymore," Mickey said. "Not like this. You're only letting me interrogate her because the others won't even set one foot in that room!"

"And why's that?" Jack asked.

"Because what we're doing to her is wrong!" Mickey said. "And you know it."

The bright lights of the autopsy-room to Mickey's left lit up his face subtly and naturally.

"Owen knows it," Mickey went on. "We all know it! You just don't want to see it?"

"Now listen to me!" Jack spoke as he turned to both Owen and Mickey. "Both of you!"

"I will not let the memories of that woman endanger something which has existed since long before you were born!"

"Come on, Jack!" Owen spoke disgruntled, not believing what Jack was saying. "Hundreds of people already know about Torchwood and you haven't retconned them!"

"That's because I can trust them!" Jack said.

"And she only knows about us because we brought her here in the first place!" Mickey said.

"Us?" Jack said dubiously.

"She doesn't know anything!" Owen spoke. "She hasn't seen anything! Why are you so bent on wiping her mind?"

'Letting her go will only bring about more trouble," Jack said. "Trust me."

"But she's innocent!" Owen said. "And don't tell me she won't remember! Not remembering doesn't mean it didn't happen!"

"They forget, because they must!" Jack said.

"Yeah, right…" Mickey said.

"You got anything else to say, Mickey?" Jack said. "Otherwise you get back to work!"

Any other time he would have slid away, leave it, let it go, forget it and do as he was told, but not this time.

He didn't know why.

"Yeah, I got something to say!" Mickey said, approaching Jack up close on purpose.

He hesitated when he looked into Jack's eyes and he realized he had no idea what to say.

"This isn't your call, Jack!" Owen interrupted, somehow feeling the need to pierce the uncomfortable, violent silence.

"Well, it is," Jack replied, facing away from Mickey who both felt glad and appalled that Jack had passed by him so bluntly. "and you know why? Because I'm Captain Jack Harkness, and I make the decisions around here! From good to bad I've done them all and you don't want to know the half of it!

"Torchwood is tough, Mickey!" Jack suddenly said, glancing over his shoulder to look at Mickey. "It isn't easy! It isn't glamorous!

"You have to be prepared to make tough choices you have to live with for the rest of your life!"

Mickey laughed.

"Not with retcon!" he said. "You could just keep the memories you like and throw away the rest! You erase them like it never happened, but it did!"

Jack just stood there, radiant and powerful, taking one blow after another and retaliating with words.

They had seen him like this before, but this time he was visibly angered and upset as he defended that which he thought to be right.

His code, his life, his purpose.

The one thing which kept him going all these years.

"I'm not going to listen to this," Jack said, but Mickey wasn't ready to back down.

"This is wrong, Jack!" Mickey spoke as if it was his final desperate cry. "You know it! We all know it!"

Mickey paused.

Owen looked at the two of them in complete disbelief, frozen and helpless as he had somehow been turned into a spectator of his own desperate debate.

He somehow suspected why Mickey was doing this, challenging Jack, hoping that this will unlock the enigma which is Captain Jack Harkness and give some rest to the questions which stir his heart.

They've all been there, that phase where Mickey was now, especially Owen, who recognised the symptoms immediately; everything you thought it would be, the dream you expected to live, the eternal longing and hope of finding one's place in the universe, it never happened, doesn't exist.

In the eyes of Mickey Smith Owen saw a man who was fed up with living a half life, a life of excuses, a life of shadows and lies, as he tried to sort his life out, put it back together and reach for that dream of grandeur and purpose he once had the pleasure of tasting.

Yet Owen knew it was hard to find that place in life, especially if you didn't know where it was, what it would be, fearing what it could be, not knowing what it ought to be.

"Abigail Williams is innocent!" Mickey said to Jack. "She hasn't done anything wrong, yet you're torturing her! We've all seen you!"

Neither Gwen or Ianto could ignore this row any longer as the voices grew louder and the tension rose.

They rushed towards them and stood at the edge of the battle arena which consisted of Mickey, Jack and a forgotten Owen.

"She won't remember," Jack said to Mickey, after glancing at Gwen and Ianto.

"And that makes it all right?" Mickey said.

"It's the way it has to be," Jack said.

This was Jack's place, Jack's destiny, the destiny that was put upon him, the destiny he chose.

"I did what I had to do," Jack said. "And I'd do it again in an instant."

Mickey shook his head.

"What happened to you, Jack?" Mickey asked and they both remembered the first time they met, ages ago, centuries ago, but in some ways it seemed like yesterday.

Jack's face grew cold, pale and darkly violent as a shadow was cast on his face.

His eyes pierced through Mickey Smith as he spoke to him with a ghastly voice.

"I am not a nice guy," he said. "I never was."

Mickey didn't dare to blink.

Gwen held her breath.

Ianto never moved a muscle.

Yet Owen felt strangely satisfied, knowing finally what he had to do.

"Now get out," Jack spoke softly, like the echo of an ancient roar.

"Get out of my Hub and never look back," Jack said.

Although Mickey didn't think he would leave this argument unpunished, his exile still came as a shock.

Jack turned away and walked towards the dungeon, not even glancing once at Mickey.

"That's it?" Mickey asked the fleeting shadow, but Jack never answered him.

Mickey turned his confused glance to the team, who stood still gathered around him in a joint solemn silence.

Gwen and Ianto's eyes lingered briefly on Mickey Smith, without emotion, not grief, not sadness, not happiness, just nothing, and they looked at him as if they wanted to capture his face in their memories so they would remember him forever, knowing they wouldn't see him again.

They turned away without even a sigh, leaving only Mickey and Owen.

"He's not going to retcon me, is he?" Mickey asked Owen.

Owen smiled, saying: "He won't."

For Mickey the search continued, but Owen however knew exactly what he had to do.


	39. Chapter 39

Abigail clung to the glass wall of her cell the minute she heard the door close in the far distance of the dark tunnel.

Out of her reach, out of her sight, now walked a man; Abigail could hear his footfalls echo through the wet and gloomy dungeon.

The man fiercely reached for a decrepit, wooden chair from the corner and shadows and he dragged it across the floor, its wooden legs scratching the stone tiles, as he walked towards Abigail's cell, and she knew who it was going to be.

Her interrogator had returned and Abigail slightly backed away from the glass, holy wall.

"I can tell you where he is," Abby quickly said as Jack put down the chair on all four legs in front of her cell.

He seemed agitated, as if he had just been running and had suddenly come to a full stop, except his breathing was normal.

Jack looked at her and sighed deeply with a half smile.

"That was easy," he said, as he walked closer to the glass, apparently choosing not to sit down.

"I'll tell ya," Abby said. "but how do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"What bargain?" Jack spoke interested.

"I'm not doing this for nothing!" Abigail cried. "I want to get out of here!"

A Weevil growled somewhere in the dark, a muffled cry which echoed beyond bricks and tunnels.

"Now I know you're lying," Jack said, walking around to the back of the wooden chair, with his hand in reach of the strange console, which Abigail knew would release her with one touch of a button.

She glanced at it for a heartbeat, before her fears took control.

To be imprisoned in a cell like this was one thing, but to be gazed upon continuously by a stranger, who was watching her so keenly that very moment, as if he was assessing her, analyzing her…

"Why are you doing this?" Abigail asked. "Who are you people?"

"We're here to set things right," Jack said.

"By killing Ben Milton?" Abigail asked.

Jack narrowed his eyebrows and gestured only to amuse them both.

"Who said anything about killing?" he said.

Then a heavy door slammed open and a dark figure, a silhouette came rushing into the dungeon towards Jack.

Abigail couldn't see him, and only hear his echoing footfalls, as she tried desperately to peek around the corner of her cell.

Before Jack could even stand up he had already reached them, his face was lit up by hollow light.

"Owen!" Jack yelled, but he didn't listen.

He almost pressed his face into the glass as he looked upon Abigail Williams with love in his eyes.

In his mind he laughed at the ease of this magnanimous gesture, as he stood there in the pale light, gazing at the stricken, ghostly image of Abigail William's overwhelmed open mouth.

"Hello, Abigail," he managed to say before Jack grabbed him by his shoulders and pushed him away from the glass and back into the shadows.

The brief image of her dead lover, now burned into her retinas, left her like the shards of a broken mirror pressed together into a perfect crystal ball.

Gleaming in utter agony and joy, her heart was beating insanely inside her chest, and she could find no words to utter but the name of the knight who had come to rescue her.

Had she find him, or had he found her?

Had she been right about destiny, or had destiny been right about her?

"Joe!" she cried, banging the glass wall of her cell with her fists, until she could feel them no longer, numbing her fingers with every blow.

"Joseph!"

* * *

Jack dragged Owen back into the Hub with an insane rage which none of them had ever witnessed before.

He pushed him so hard into the wall that Owen dislocated his shoulder.

"I gave you a direct order!" Jack yelled as Owen pulled himself together, laying on the floor, holding his malfunctioning arm.

"I told you specifically not to do that! Under no circumstances should she ever see your face!"

"What are you going to do, Jack?" Owen said defiantly. "Fire me?"

He hadn't felt his shoulder as it dislocated, but he had heard a suspicious crack as he hit the wall.

He ignored it now as he faced Jack, not caring about mortal wounds or collateral damage.

He was focused on only one thing and he wouldn't stop until he had reached that moment.

There was something he had to do and he was the only one who could do it.

"You were going to retcon her anyway!"

Jack was furious still. "Now we're never going to get that information out of her!"

"I don't care!" Owen yelled back, before pausing as he gazed directly into Jack's eyes.

"And you know why, Jack? Because I'm not a nice man too! And I never have been!"

Hearing his own words be used against him left Jack speechless for a moment, a moment which Owen swiftly used to his advantage.

"In life I was a self-centred, ugly, little prick! An arrogant pig, who never cared about others but himself!

"Toshiko loved me!" he cried with extreme difficulty. "Gwen shagged me! And I treated them like dirt! I never deserved them!"

Jack's rage had calmed down, although he was still mad.

Owen gathered up more courage as he lost control of words, feeling somehow Jack was the only one who would understand, and who needed to understand.

"My point is," Owen said. "Things would have been way different without me, surely even better.

"This, everything, it's all because of me. It's my fault. They're suffering, Abigail's suffering, is all because of me.

"And I hope, that with all those possibilities and realities out there, there'd better be a world out there which does it right. Where Toshiko is alive, where Joseph Milton and Abigail Williams live happily ever after, and where you held Gray's hand until the very end."

That last comment struck Jack deeply, even though he wasn't letting it show.

Somehow, Owen could see it in his eyes.

"But that's not this world," Owen said. "This is my world, my reality, and it has been from the moment I got back."

Recurring ripples in still water, a whispering breeze and a whisp of motion, eternally expanding circles of life, created by one single pebble thrown into a pool.

One single pebble, leading to so much more.

Future choice, future life.

And life, just like death, changes everything.

"My reality, my call."

Jack said nothing.

"Forget Ben Milton," Owen said. "Let Abigail go."

* * *

Abigail sat down on her uncomfortable bed with grey sheets, feeling the rusty springs beneath her and the mattress buckle underneath the stress of her normal weight.

She waited for the return of her interrogator, but he would never come.

There was nothing but the ominous sight of the empty wooden chair, and the memory of Joseph's face in the pale light, his eyes sparkling happily.

In her memories she could feel nothing but the cold, glass wall, keeping her from touching him, making her almost unable to distinguish memory from hallucination.

"Help me," she whispered to the shadows as she gazed up at the dark ceiling.

Her interrogator stood almost a mile away upon the roof of the Millennium Centre.

Jack let the sea breeze caress his face and overwhelm him, as he searched for truth and wisdom in the current of universal destiny.

* * *

Owen's words were still roaming through his mind as he paced aimlessly across the Hub, waiting for answers.

The hours were ticking away towards midnight, and Owen couldn't help but be reminded of how he was just 24 hours earlier, sitting in Gwen's apartment in the dark, not sure about anything, not even himself.

"Gwen?"

He found her sitting in the brown, leather sofa beneath the Torchwood sign, watching the minutes tick away on her watch.

She looked up at him and he nodded towards his dislocated shoulder.

"A little help, please," Owen said and she immediately jumped out of her seat to grab his arm.

"I think it's dislocated," he said and Gwen nodded.

He smiled.

"I only have this body for a few days and already I've trashed it."

She smiled too. "I'd tell you this would hurt, but in your case it won't, so…"

"Let's be extra careful, instead," Owen said.

They counted down and forcibly popped his shoulder back into its socket.

They both looked down at his arm and examined it as he lifted it up.

"Anything?" Gwen asked.

Owen twisted it around and played an imaginative piano with his fingers.

"It seems all right," he said and their eyes met again in a uneasy silence.

Gwen smiled.

"Sorry about earlier," he said.

Gwen glanced at the hole in his chest which still needed to be sowed up.

She pulled on his jacket to make it cover the wound up.

"It's okay," she said, losing the smile, but not her positive spirit. "We've had worse."

"Tell me about it," Owen said.

Then Gwen's eyes refocused as the giant Hub door swung open with that familiar buzz and metal rattling, and she saw Rhys standing in the doorway, followed by Ianto who had let him in.

"Rhys!" Gwen said as she rushed towards him and swung her arms around him.

"I heard your call," Rhys said, kissing her lips. "I came as soon as I could."

Owen watched as Gwen put her arms around her husband again.

As Rhys took hold of Gwen's shoulders in a desperate hug, he gazed up at Owen and nodded as they shared a knowing look.


	40. Chapter 40

Orange streetlights covered the city in a blanket of dots and shadows.

In the distance, the sky was still coloured in bright colours of a fading day as the sun's light finally faded away entirely from this part of the planet as it revolved around its axes.

The clouds were brown, yet transparent in this aging hour of early night, letting through the travelling starlight, centuries away, from galaxies and times already lost, long gone.

Captain Jack Harkness gazed up at these extraordinary dying rays of light.

If only they knew what was out there, if only they could have seen its beauty, like Jack had.

He stood there on the roof of the Millennium Centre a lightning rod for the wind to distract, a statue in the light of the moon.

Red lights were moving, cars were driving through endless streets, a plane was flying through the sky with lights flashing every few seconds.

Captain Jack Harkness gazed down upon this Earth, a different world than how he last saw it, but was that because of the world, or was that because of Jack?

Or because of Owen?

People change this world so many times, every second, every day, and they don't even know it.

The countless possibilities, the endless, vast and growing collection of alternate realities, no-one, but the indecisive, are even aware of.

One cancelled holiday can save a family from a plane crash.

One forgotten key can stop a man from being hit by a bus in the street.

One simple glance at food on the television can make someone hungry, go to the shops and bump into the love of their life.

Choice creates change.

This world is in constant flux, bound together by the fabric of reality, the walls of time and space and the Void in between worlds.

Maybe somewhere at the beginning of time, someone made a choice, sparking the first cut in time and space where realities split, separated, departed into two versions in an explosion of possibility and the spark of life, and the universe has been growing ever since.

Planet Earth is just a product of that event, a product of chance, a product of choice.

In this case, Jack's choice.

"It's beautiful up here," Ianto said and for a moment Jack didn't even acknowledge his presence, staying silent for just one moment longer to enjoy this moment in time and space.

"It is," Jack said.

His blue pea coat was dancing in the cold wind, just like his hair.

Ianto preferred not to look down at the floor below as he was struggling to find a good balance upon that high roof.

"Ianto?" Jack suddenly asked. "Do you believe in destiny?"

"What, a divine plan of God?" Ianto asked.

Jack smiled. "Something like that."

"I believe no-one should be in control of a giant, vast, incredible, unpredictable and dangerous, beautiful universe like this. No-one can be trusted with ultimate power, so it should be taken from him."

"Are you saying we should kill God?" Jack said.

"I'm saying that I don't believe in one," Ianto said. "At least not in the bearded, wise, old man stereotype they portray him as."

"You'd rather have him look handsome and young?" Jack asked.

It took Ianto a little more time than usual to answer Jack this time, as he gazed upon the Captain in the moonlight.

"God is impossible and flawed," Ianto said. "Destiny is so much more natural, so much more rhythmical and nice."

"To find one's place in the universe, in history, in life…" Jack said. "That is what they're all looking for in the end."

"The meaning of liff," Ianto joked.

Jack laughed, and when he turned his head to glance over his shoulder at Ianto, Ianto could see a tear glistening in the eye of the immortal man.

"Tell me, Ianto," Jack said. "Billions of souls die every day for no reason. In the end they never find their place in the world, in history."

He turned around to face Ianto.

"Why would Abigail Williams be any different?"

Somehow Ianto just knew the answer, without thinking about it, without having prepared for it or pausing for one second, the thought just came to him as if it was the most logical thing in the world, as if it was meant to be.

"She's different, because of you, because of Owen. Because you will remember."

"I remember because I must," Jack said hollow, as if the words had been haunting him for years.

"Have you found your place in life, Ianto?" Jack asked.

"I found you," Ianto said.

Jack cried and reached out his arms towards Ianto and he hugged him.

Ianto's life was different, because of Jack Harkness.

How many more lives had he changed, and will he change in life, by action, by choice, maybe even by existing?

Could his presence have changed the world since the day he transported back to Earth centuries ago?

Jack thought back to his youth, which he spent in a far away nebula, in a far away future, where he had never heard of the name Captain Jack Harkness before, but had be been there, was his future self, his current self, present in that timeline or had he changed it?

Had he changed real history, changed the universe, changed what was supposed to happen, what was meant to happen…

Or was he meant to happen?

Was his destiny fixed?

"A fixed point in time and space…" the Doctor called him.

Jack smiled as he ruffled the back of Ianto's head as he hugged him intensely.

"I remember, because I must," Jack said to Ianto.

"History will affect me, and I will affect history. Maybe I am history, who knows?"

He laughed at his own joke as he released Ianto from the hug.

Ianto looked at him with gleaming eyes, twinkling in the orange street lights which shined on the streets down below.

Captain Jack Harkness had saved his life, changed it, this mortal man's life, and he would save many more.

"Why are you here?" Jack asked.

Ianto shrugged, stating the simplicity of his unnecessary question.

"You needed me," he said.

Jack pulled Ianto closer and kissed him on the lips with an extraordinary passion, and Ianto returned it with the same mighty love.

In his heart, he had accepted the truth.

Sometimes saving the world, changing it, isn't a blessing, but a curse.

To sacrifice everything for the greater good.

"I remember," Jack thought to himself. "I suffer, because I must."

* * *

"You just changed reality, Owen Harper," Jack said as he approached the dead man in the Hub, smiling at him with a big and proud smile. "It's a big responsibility. A huge burden to bear."

Owen's eyes were twinkling.

"You think you can live with that?"

Owen smiled.

"What changed your mind?" Owen asked.

Owen's eyes followed Ianto who passed them with a curt smile.

"God," Jack answered, and Owen didn't know if he was joking.


	41. Chapter 41

There she sat in the dark, crying when the strange woman approached, another member of this strange organization which had conspired and plotted to make her life miserable in the name of the universe.

It was the story of her life, fighting for more than survival and getting kicked into the dirt by the only one whose left to blame, but herself.

Yet this time she had a reason to curse the skies.

All she could see when she saw Gwen Cooper Williams' face appear from the shadows and step into the pale light was the face of her doomed lover, smiling back at her even though reason dictated he couldn't possibly be real.

Gwen didn't know what to say of this victim of destiny, this damaged soul…

"Hello, Abigail," Gwen said.

"Did he sent you?" Abigail asked as she sat in the corner, crouched and clamping her legs with her arms for warmth in this cold cell. "That Jack?"

Still Gwen could was speechless, never regretting what she had let Jack do to her, not regretting that Owen now had her freed.

When did she start getting so emotionless and cold?

When did she stop caring?

"You know where he is, don't you?" Abigail said. "You know where Joe is!"

"What have you done to him!" she started shouting at Gwen, before it all ended in more tears. "What kind of sick game are you playing? Why are you doing this?"

Gwen stood there in front of her cell, cradling the little gun, ready to sedate her, like a caged animal, as she glanced at Ianto who stepped beside her with a supporting nod.

"It's complicated," Gwen simply said, and she paused for a moment before aiming the gun at Abigail. "I'm sorry."

There was a muffled shot and Abigail felt a prick in her shoulder, before everything slowly faded into darkness.

* * *

Jack and Owen watched silently how Ianto and Gwen carried Abigail's body away with a solemn respect.

A lot of words were spoken in her name, a lot of fighting, a lot of tears, and someone was even fired because of her.

Owen gazed at Jack, only seeing his back, as he tried to look further than the physical, beyond looks and lies.

"I thought Mickey and you were old friends," Owen said.

Jack turned his head only slightly, thereby acknowledging Owen's words as he watched Gwen and Ianto.

Gwen looked at Rhys as he was sitting in the brown sofa, waiting.

Always waiting.

"We were," Jack said.

"So why did you fire him?" Owen asked.

For a moment Owen was convinced Jack hadn't really fired him completely, not with the same certain rage he displayed after the dreadful argument about Abigail's condition and freedom with Mickey, only one hour ago.

But then Jack looked into Owen's eyes with a certain sad conviction and Owen knew the deed would not be reversed that easily.

"Mickey wasn't right for this place," Jack said.

"Too young?" Owen asked.

"Too innocent," Jack said.

Jack looked down and turned away.

He walked to his office, but Owen did not let him go and followed him.

"Tell me what's wrong, Jack," Owen said. "Something's got to be wrong. I can feel it. You would never have given up this easily if there weren't something going on. Is it John Lumic?"

Jack looked up at Owen with a proud hint of a smile, gleaming amused, but at the same time vaguely distracted.

"It's the bigger picture," Jack said.

"It always is," Owen replied as he stood in Jack's doorway, watching him straighten and organize the paperwork on his desk. "Tell me more, Jack."

This time Jack smiled, but said nothing.

"What aren't you telling us, Jack?" Owen asked.

"I don't need to tell you," Jack said without looking up just yet.

He waited to see the discontent look on Owen's face, before he continued.

"Because you already know."

He looked up and gazed fiercely into Owen's eyes, as if he was seeing him brighter and more clearer than ever before.

"This," Jack said. "Things, events, people, they aren't random. It's connected."

Owen said nothing.

Somehow, Owen did know.

"You, using the body of the very first Cyberman from another world as a human suit in this world, that isn't irony. That's destiny. Abigail Williams? John Lumic?

"This reality is echoing another reality.

"Things are about to happen which have already happened before, and they will happen again, unless we stop it.

"And the fire is already too close to the woods."

"What fire?" Owen said. "What are you talking about?"

Jack merely gazed into his eyes.

"What?" Owen said. "Something is coming?"

Jack nodded.

"Something is coming," he said. "It's best to be prepared."

* * *

Owen slowly approached Rhys, who sat there nervously, twisting his thumbs around, until he sensed Owen's presence and looked behind him.

Rhys then quickly looked away.

The old couch creaked uncomfortably beneath him as he sought the best way to position himself as he felt how Owen came closer.

Owen slowly stepped towards him without saying anything, as his shoes crackled the metal holy plate beneath his feet as he stepped on it for a single moment.

Then as he stood by the small table, where he could look down into the bottom of Rhys' plastic cup and see nothing but the last drops of coffee, Rhys was forced to look at him.

Owen walked around the table and sat down next to Rhys.

Rhys swallowed, although he didn't feel uncomfortable.

He tried to look around the massive water feature which stood at the centre of the Hub, to see his busy wife working hard on the other side of the Hub, assembling Abigail's possessions and de-activating her workstation and computer, thereby ending her investigation into Joseph's mysterious younger brother.

"Did you ask her?" Owen asked.

Rhys looked in front of him, before he dared to look at Owen and face the truth.

And somehow he already had.

He had been carrying this secret around now all day, trying not to think of how Gwen had already held this secret for an entire year.

His lips twitched as he even thought about it.

Owen looked at him with all the kindness and sympathy he could muster, for Rhys deserved it.

"I'll wait, until she's ready to tell me," Rhys said with difficulty, remembering the first time he heard those unbelievable words, which he somehow never doubted; somehow he had always known.

Owen had told him about their affair, during that endless night when he showed up on his doorstep, begging to be let in, begging to be trusted.

Rhys had forced Owen to sit down and he had used his umbrella to keep him at bay.

He started questioning him, about Torchwood, about Jack, about the team and the missions and the things they've seen.

The first monster Rhys encountered.

Still not believing Owen that night, a strange question arose in his mind, a peculiar thought, like the darkly whisper of a dangerous demon in his ears, making him doubt, making him wonder, making him demand the truth.

And he asked the question, although it seemed silly, unbelievable and blunt.

Yet, if he was the real Owen, he would know, and if he wasn't then his answer would be a lie in either case, and Rhys would tell.

The hope that Owen would turn out into an alien spy never crossed Rhys' mind.

The truth always feels right, even if it hurts.

And Rhys had always suspected, yet never known.

He looked up and saw his wife almost walk past him and she smiled at him, before she disappeared through the Hub's huge entrance and into Ianto's little shop.

This secret feeling blossomed in Rhys, but never sparking distrust, only disappointment.

Owen looked at Gwen as well and smiled without knowing it.

He would've asked her about it, if he had stood in Rhys' place, he wouldn't be able to live without knowing, but then again he had always been a selfish bastard and it'd take a lot more than death to change that little fact.

He smiled at that thought, before he turned to Rhys again.

"You're twice the man I am," he said to Rhys.

"Or was." he added with a faint smile.

Rhys smiled too, without knowing if it were proper to laugh at that.

"I've waited a long time for her," Rhys said to Owen. "And you know, where's the harm in waiting some more?"

"Or you could just blame me," Owen said.

"I do," Rhys said with a smile, before feeling uncomfortable again to speak with the man Gwen wanted more than him, if even for a short while, long ago.

Owen smiled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"But she married me," Rhys said. "Me, not you. She loves me and I know it. And I love her with all my heart. It's just…"

He couldn't find the right words.

"…complicated."

Owen knew.

Trust is hard to earn, but easy to lose.

"I'm sorry," Owen said.

He patted Rhys' back before he stood up and left.

And Rhys was left waiting for his wife.

Always waiting…

* * *

The stars were obscured by the mist of soft light from street lights, yet in dark spots they sparkled brightly in the evening sky.

Jack and Owen both gradually ascended into starlight as they silently stood on the unnoticeable patch of stone, looking up as Ianto awaited them, standing before the SUV, shivering in the cold wind.

Abigail had already been placed in the backseat and was ready to be shipped off, so to speak.

Owen silently stepped into the SUV, but Jack merely took one step into visibility upon a next stone.

The charming captain winked at Ianto who nodded with a smile as he entered the driving seat.

"Jack?" Gwen said, as she joined his side.

He looked at her with that same cold, yet warm, silent trust and calm Gwen now expected of him.

A lock of his hair danced as it was caught in the wind.

"Are you sure about this?" Gwen asked.

"Nothing is certain," Jack said and he smiled faintly, realizing the contradiction and paradox in his own words.

As the wind was blowing and eyes were glancing at them from people who passed by through the night, walking across Roald Dahl Pass and its large square, in the shadow of the Millennium Centre, Gwen wiped her windy hair from her face.

"Jack?" she said, as she briefly glanced at Owen in the car.

Jack gazed into her eyes as she sought the right words.

"Just," she said. "I've been thinking."

Jack waited.

"Can't the Doctor cure Owen? I mean…"

"Help him?" Jack said. "Yes."

Gwen's eyes glistened in the soft light of surrounding streetlights.

"Cure him? No."

Gwen looked down.

"No-one can truly resurrect the dead," Jack spoke as he thought of Ianto. "It's a power no-one should have."

"There's always a price attached," Gwen said.

"The balance of nature, of life, death, reality, is much more fragile than you think. The Rift is proof of that.

"I would never have used the Resurrection Glove to bring someone back completely. Never."

Gwen looked at Jack and saw in his eyes the old man he truly was and the scars he's picked up over centuries of living.

"Bringing Owen back from the dead changed him. Just look at him. It's not just the face. It's Owen.

"He's different and he'll never be the same again."

"Are you still Jack Harkness?" Gwen asked as the wind howled in her ears.

Jack didn't smile, but he radiated a strange energy, gleamed proudly and strong with an ancient strength which came from within, a wisdom and certainty of heart and soul which confirmed his destiny, here in Cardiff, here with these people and this time and place.

Now Jack smiled at Gwen.

"I am now."


	42. Chapter 42

For a moment she thought she was dreaming, as she lay there shivering in the cold breeze, hearing that same wind blow through the trees.

She lay uncomfortably spread across a small park bench, with her legs curled up and her back flat against the cold, hard wood.

A scooter was accelerating nearby, its noise growing louder and then softer as it speeded away from this place.

Crickets were chirping somewhere in the distant darkness, their sound vaguely reaching out over the noise of the city's traffic.

She slowly sat upright, with crunching joints and a sore back, which pain did not match up to the pain which hid behind her eyes.

"My coat," she muttered as she discovered she was wearing it again, and in her pockets she felt her keys and phone.

She sat there, dazed and confused, feeling like she had woken up from a forgotten nightmare, yet she wasn't bathing in sweat or feeling shivers across her body, and she was positive this had not simply been a dream.

The faces were still there in her mind, and the fear of the darkness inside the dungeon still echoed across her very skin; somewhere she could still sense the night breathing.

Holding the soft fabric of her long, grey coat within her hand, she sat there quietly in the moonlight, looking up at the only other person standing in this lonely, quiet patch of green in this park in the middle of the night.

The only source of light in this veil of darkness was an old lamppost.

Its orange light touched the outlining of a man's posture, and reflected off the surface of his jacket.

As Abigail's eyes gazed upon the lamppost its bright rays shrunk into focus.

"Hello, Abigail," the man spoke.

Abigail didn't recognise his voice. It had been so long since she's heard it, and the tone and style was different.

"You're safe," the man said. "I've brought you to Bute Park."

When Abigail turned her head she could see Cardiff Castle across the treetops, fully lit upon a green hill within the castle walls.

"Why have you brought me here?" she asked.

Her coat scratched across the wooden surface of the park bench as she changed her position.

"The first place which sprung to mind, really. The others wanted to release you down by the docks somewhere, but I thought this was much better."

"Are you going to kill me?" Abigail asked.

When the man hesitated, Abigail looked down in fear, dreading that the man's silence was the omen that signalled her death.

Soon there'd be nothing but darkness.

"I am sorry, Abigail Williams." Owen said to her. "I'm so sorry."

She started crying.

"You're all saying that," Abigail said. "But you don't mean it. My life means nothing to you. My death means nothing to you!"

Abigail searched into the bin beside her for anything she could throw at him.

She found crushed tin cans, a withered newspaper and half a sandwich, and soon paper wrappers were flying through the air, turning the lovely park bench into a junk pile.

"What have you done to him? Just tell me what you've done to him! I don't care what you do to me! He's suffered enough!"

"His suffering is over!" the man said to her.

Even as her eyes adjusted to the darkness the shadows still hid his face. It was too dark.

"Let him rest in peace!" Abigail cried.

"I can't," the man tried to say. "You don't understand!"

When he approached her she backed away.

His feet tread on the garbage on the grass.

"Look, just listen to me," he said to her. "Everything is going to be okay, all right? Everything is going to be just fine. It's just…there's just…"

Losing his words, Owen regained his anger.

"Fuck. FUCK!" he yelled in frustration. "Why did this have to be so hard?"

When he turned his head away the orange light from the lamppost several feet away hit his face.

"I don't even know why I'm here," Owen said to her. "I don't know why you matter so much. You're not important. You're just the woman whose life I helped to destroy!"

Abigail was gasping for breath, shivering in cold breath as she felt her heart beat insanely in her chest.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Owen said. "If I weren't here, your life would've been so much simpler. You would have mourned and moved on, and I would've screamed at the dark without a voice, waiting for the harvest.

"But it just didn't work out that way."

"Who are you?" Abigail asked.

"I'm like you, in a way," Owen said. "I'm cursed."

"What?"

"I'm just the undead man who's stuck in your dead boyfriend's body," Owen answered.

The wind was blowing so loudly that moment, even though neither could feel it touch their skin.

The trees were moving in the wind, it's leaves dancing with every gust.

She moved closer, Abigail still didn't understand, not even when Owen moved into the light.

His dead face looked so warm in the orange light, but when Abigail touched his skin it felt so cold.

When he smiled Abigail returned to a beautiful memory, but the cold touch upon her nerves hurt her, and the pain killed the memories on this grim and ghastly night.

"Joe…" she whispered, but Owen shook his head.

"But how?" she asked.

He shook his head again.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why me, and not him?" Owen replied with a gentle smile.

Her silence, and the trembling tears in her eyes, said everything she couldn't.

"People don't come back from the dead," he said. "And I…

"I'm just a freak of nature. I always knew I was different somehow."

Abigail grabbed his hand, unable to believe it.

"I'm not him," Owen said. "I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm just a passenger."

"Joe…"

"Joseph Milton is dead," Owen said. "I'm sorry."

She howled as she let go of his hand and stumbled into the shadows, crying.

"I never intended…" Owen tried to say, but his broken voice could not carry his words across the wind's noise, nor did Abby want to listen.

She just laid herself down on the park bench in the same position she found herself in when she woke up.

She closed her eyes, trying to forget the tears and sorrow, and the revelation which destroyed all her hopes and dreams.

"Go away," Abigail said to him. "I don't want to see his face anymore."

Owen bowed his head.

He thought he was saving her, but instead he made her suffer.

This truth tread on the fine line between salvation and damnation, the edge of love and hate, which was as sharp as a blade.

He couldn't feel, he couldn't smell, he couldn't drink, sleep, fuck, piss, fight, eat or heal.

Yet he discovered he could save her.

And now he hated himself for it.

From his pocket he took a small, white pill and twirled it within the grasp of his fingers as he slowly approached the bench.

Jack had been right.

Perhaps she was better off if this had never happened.

She would have her second chance at life, without ever knowing what happened to her boyfriend after his death.

It's what Joseph would've wanted.

Abigail was still crying when Owen walked towards her in the flickering light of the lamppost.

Then the lamppost stopped working and the open area in Bute Park was covered in complete darkness, with nothing but the moonlight to light their way.

Abigail had her eyes closed still, so she didn't realize it straight away, but Owen turned around.

The crickets had stopped chirping.

There was nothing but the howling wind and the sounds of Owen's jacket as he looked around the park.

Abigail stopped sobbing and looked up.

First she saw starlight, then she saw Owen's tall figure towering over her as he almost pulled her arm out of its socket.

"Get up," Owen whispered.

Abigail felt it again.

The darkness was breathing.

Owen gripped her hand tightly.

As her eyes adjusted to the night, she looked around her and saw something gliding from out of the forest into the open patch of the park towards them.

Something even more denser than the blackest darkness, like a dense fog, compressed into a dark cloak.

Soundlessly they moved towards them, at least twenty of them, wielding sharp scythes which glistened in the blue moonlight.

"Run," Owen whispered.


	43. Chapter 43

They ran downhill into the shadow where dark eyes glared on to them.

The hooded men gathered around them in the night underneath the full moon which shined through the flimsy wisp of passing clouds.

Owen gazed in all directions looking at a way out of this nightmare as the robed disciples approached.

"Whatever you do, don't let go of my hand." Owen said.

There was no point in calling the police.

They'd be dead before anyone would even find them in this dark and deserted park.

In the absence of light these wicked creatures turned to the moon.

Their scythes glittered in its rays as the hooded men gripped their fists around it, eager to slay the unholy ones.

Owen saw how the first one approached with a heavy pace and he let go of Abby's hanmd and attacked him.

Abby grabbed the back of Owen's shirt as he fought off the hooded disciple by grabbing hold of his long scythe.

The white cross the hooded man was wearing seemed to gleam in this eternal night.

Owen pushed the monk away to let him fall on his back on the grass.

In the moonlight Owen could see his hood fall off.

Their faces; they were human.

"Heathens beware." It muttered. It terrified Abby with its incantations and prayers. "We cast you out in the name of our Lord."

As they ran away from it, Owen threw away the scythe he was still holding in his hands.

Abby quickly reached for his hand as she glanced back at the approaching shadows who persistently followed them. All were chanting. All were cursing their names.

"Your planet shall be cleansed from sin, burn in the name of all that is holy. The Spark will commence this scourge of redemption. You cannot stop what is meant to be."

They ran through the trees, feeling branches poke their skin as they fled into the darkness of the park.

They almost couldn't see anything.

The monks ran after them with a surprising speed, across the hill park in the pale moonlight.

Their robes flowed naturally and seemed to merge with the darkness which granted them extra speed.

The trees grew less thick and the branches reached higher as they reached a patch of pine trees.

They stumbled across tree stumps as they rushed through the forest.

Abby could do nothing to keep her from an untimely death but clinging on to Owen's cold, dead hand.

As she ran beside him she could not help but forget for just once who he really was.

As if everything that had just happened never happened at all.

And she still had hope, and she hadn't plunged into the darkness in this strange and frightening way.

Nothing was the same, not since the moment Joe came back from the dead.

Suddenly a monk appeared from out of nowhere, like a wraith flying from out of the darkest mist, with its arms spread wide open to catch Abigail.

Owen freaked and pulled her towards him, sending the monk running into the trees.

She tripped and fell as Owen kept pulling her arm, with the monk only a few metres away, struggling to climb back on to his feet.

She slipped across the mud, tainting the back of her coat with black dirt as Owen pulled her up.

He suddenly found himself holding her in his hands, almost hugging her as they held each other's hands.

They felt each other's breath on their faces, before Owen turned to face away.

He ran across the field, risking the open plain where the shadows could spot them, to avoid being caught amongst the trees, which limited their movements.

Abby didn't know why they were after them.

Their words had meant nothing to her.

In this chaotic mess she relied on Owen to know.

Everything had started with him. He's the reason why she's here.

He's the one who's supposed to know everything.

Owen could hear Abby breathing frantically as she gripped his hand.

He didn't feel it, but whenever he moved he realized he could feel he was dragging something with him, so he politely squeezed her hand in return, not knowing if she felt it.

The disciples were quick. They dissolved from the misty darkness underneath the trees, a pitch black void of shadows where the moonlight could not reach.

In the distance, above the trees, they could see Cardiff Castle being lit up by various light sources.

Owen and Abby saw how the hooded men closed in on them, so they ran past them into a different direction.

Then, all of a sudden, something unknown sent Owen flying through the air, taking Abigail with him as he rolled sideways across the grassy ground.

Then as he hit a stone with his back he realized what he must've hit without feeling.

They had encountered a circle of stones in the dark, a group of large standing-stones called the Gorsedd stones.

The one Owen had tripped over had been was almost tall enough to reach his knees.

Owen had been lucky to have only grazed the stone, or he could have broken it without ever feeling it, and he would've had no chance against the monks who were chasing him through the dark.

But there were more stones, which were large enough to almost reach their shoulders.

Owen tried to get up, and he used one of the stones to pull himself up.

He gazed upon Abby's silhouette as she crawled up as well and looked around her for the hooded men.

Then she saw him, standing in the moonlight on top of the centre stone.

Like some sort of ancient dark druid, or dark entity, maybe the Grim Reaper himself, coming back to fight that rematch.

Abigail screamed as his scythe pierced the air.

The monk was flying through the air with his robes waving around him.

Abigail could already imagine how the dark entity would engulf her with his massive robes and consume her, absorb her into this eternal darkness.

She closed her eyes and kept screaming and for one second she felt how the shadow enclosed her and ate her whole, until a strong arm pulled her away.

And as Owen kept on running through the forest Jack's words echoed through his mind.

Abigail was his responsibility.

Whoever these creatures were, he promised to himself he would not see her die.

"Come on!" he yelled.

They escaped the circle of stones, and ran back into the forest where Owen could hear the city's noises the loudest.

He followed his ears through the dark and across a gritty bicycle path, until they reached the outer walls of Bute Park.

Owen glanced over his shoulder and told Abigail to climb across first.

They were coming.

Abigail was frightened by the dark figure of an animal sitting beside her on the wall as Owen helped her climb over it, but as she looked closer she could see in the light of the streetlights that it was the statue of a pelican.

A strange feeling of desolation and loneliness struck Abigail when she landed on the opposite side of the wall and in the street again.

She sighed as she found herself believing it was all over. And a part of her really wanted to.

But Owen grabbed her arm and lead her from light to light across the street.

His pace was quick and ruthless.

Although Owen could not feel it, Abigail did feel her body struggle to keep up with her declining condition as she gasped for breath and ignored the surges of pain which struck her body every few seconds.

"Stay in the lights," Owen said to Abby.

"I can't." Abby said, cradling her painful sides. It's been years since she's ran that far so fast.

"You have to." Owen replied. "We've got to get out of here as fast as we can. Where's a cab when you need one?"

Owen glanced over his shoulder at the park they had just escaped.

His instincts were telling him this wasn't over, even as they walked into a bit more busy streets where they crossed paths with a lot more people.

A car was coming.

Owen ran in front of it, shouting at it, begging it to stop, but the driver honked at Owen angrily and drove around him.

Owen cursed but kept his eyes on the park behind him.

The trees were moving behind the Animal Wall, as if something was there moving it, instead of the wind.

And for a moment he could've spotted one of the monks standing in the shadows in the street behind them, but Owen couldn't tell if it was just his frightened imagination.

"AAAHHH!" Owen groaned loudly in frustration.

"This is all your fault!" Abigail started yelling at Owen. "You're doing this! You destroyed my life and you're not even trying!"

"Shut up!" Owen responded.

Cloaked shadows were jumping from building to building, touched by a wisp of orange streetlight as they passed into the city.

"We need to call Jack or find someplace to hide," Owen said.

"Call Jack? Who's that? That American friend of yours?" Abigail viciously replied.

She remembered how Jack imprisoned and interrogated her, and he never told her about Joe.

About this.

Maybe Jack was right.

Maybe she didn't want to know.

"He can help," Owen said. "He's the only help we've got. Without him we're dead."

"You mean I'm dead?" Abigail said.

Owen didn't know what to say to that.

The shadows were moving again.

Owen guided Abigail through the patches of light as they ran away through the street, and at the same time Abigail was phoning for help.

"How do I contact him?" Abigail said.

"You can't," Owen said.

"Then how the hell can he help us?" Abigail yelled.

"I don't know!" Owen yelled back.

Torchwood is top secret. They don't just advertise their number or give it away to strangers. It's classified information accessible by few.

Whenever Owen spoke to Torchwood he was using Torchwood equipment, earpods and phones which all had direct connections to the Torchwood Hub.

But his status as Torchwood agent had been terminated the moment he died a second time, leaving him without a phone, gun or badge.

"The bus!" Owen cried.

"What?" Abigail asked.

She hadn't noticed the large vehicle which was now coming down the road.

"Do you've got money?" Owen asked Abigail, after finding the bus stop in the corner of his eyes.

She rummaged through her pockets and found her wallet stashed away at the bottom.

"Yes."

"Then go on the bus and get as far away as you can get."

The bus was right there, but Abigail was left frozen and speechless.

"But I can't…"

"You have to. Now go."

Abigail just couldn't let go of the answer to her quest, which she had fought so hard for to find, for which she had suffered to much to obtain.

"But what about you?" Abigail asked.

"Don't worry about me," Owen said as he pushed her into the right direction. "Just go. Live your life. Cherish those memories. Everything. Just do it. Just go."

"But I can't!"

"You're about to." Owen said as he waved at the bus-driver to stop. "Now get moving!"

Abigail got on the bus, paid for her ride back to Helen's place and watched through the window at the man who used to be her lover.

What the hell had happened to him? She still didn't understand.

The bus drove off, leaving Owen behind, struggling to stay in the light.

On the bus Abigail looked around her in a constant state of fear, as her heart would not stop beating inside her chest.

One single tear fell across her cheek as it left her eye.

Then a awesome crashing noise above them shocked all the passengers on the bus, and as Abigail looked up she saw the sharp tips of huge, magnificent scythes sticking out into the bus' interior.

The disciples of death were hacking away at the roof of the bus, until the metal was shredded.

Abigail fled towards the driver's end of the bus, but he had no idea what was going on, or how to deal with it, as he glanced via the mirrors at the strange intruder.

He saw too late how a monk emerged from the shadows and was suddenly lit up in the massive headlights of the bus, seconds before he was hit.

The sound of the monk's death was terrifyingly blunt as the bus drove across his body.

The busdriver panicked.

The bus hit a street light as it drove across the curb, causing Owen to gain on the bus as it slowed down.

"Abigail!" Owen yelled as he saw what happened to the bus and ran after it. "No!"

One monk managed to slip through the shredded roof and descend inside the bus.

In these lights Abigail could see his human hands and face and the large, white cross he wore around his neck.

His incredible scythe was made out of sharp metal and a long and thick stick of wood, which looked like it had just been cut off a tree, with bits of green and traces of stumps across its surface.

Thick, white ropes with knots in it were tied around their waists and around the outside of his robes, around his shoulders and arms, he wore large, leather straps like belts or holsters.

The monk didn't fit in with his urban, modern technology and surroundings inside the bus.

"Pray to your heathen God," the monk chanted as he approached her. "He will not save you."

"Abigail!" Owen yelled as he ran towards the bus.

More people came to see if something bad had happened, or what might've caused this bus to crash in the middle of the city, with no signs of severe damage or death.

The glass of the bus-doors was smashed soon and another monk entered the bus.

"The Spark will set you free," he chanted.

Owen ran into the back of the bus, but as he tried to run around it he was suddenly pulled back as if by an invisibly rope.

The monks grabbed Owen and before he knew it the lights went out as darkness engulfed him, and the last thing he saw was the full moon.


	44. Chapter 44

His body was dragged across a smooth floor, his hands shackled together in rusty, iron cuffs whose weight was almost unbearable to bear for mortal hands.

Human hands gripped the iron bonds between his shackles as Owen kicked the floor yelling in rage.

His eyes adjusted and finally looked out at an immense ceiling.

He was in a church or cathedral, immersed in a total blackness of night which only his angry screams could pierce.

Owen tried to hook his foot behind one of the large benches, but in the end he realized it was pointless to resist.

But there was only one monk with him and when he looked across the dark hall he could see in the moonlight, and in hints of streetlight, which shined through the cathedral's immense windows that there was another disciple, dragging along with him the silent silhouette of a broken soul.

It was Abigail.

Owen could see her clearly when they dragged them into an open space, then more rows of benches followed as gloomy, grey statues looked down on him with ominous, empty eyes.

His groans echoed through the large cathedral like the monk's heavy stride.

"Abigail!" Owen started yelling.

She had to wake up.

He didn't know what was going to happen, although there was a fair chance it wasn't going to be good.

His mind had already reached a conclusion in the first seconds of his awakening, within sight of his impending doom.

"Look at me!" Owen yelled. "Abigail!"

The monk tugged hard at his chains as Owen tried to get up, but the monk's speed and strength made him unable to stand upright for long.

He twisted his body around and around, trying to find Abigail's eyes in the darkness of the cathedral, as his hands were tied to the monk's pale grip.

He tried desperately not to break any bones, keeping a close eye on every one of his body's movements. It was hard, considering he couldn't feel anything.

He finally got a foot down and used the monk's pull to get himself upright, but all it did was have Owen struggling to defeat the monk's eternal stride through the darkness.

He kept falling on his knees as he tried to counter the monk's pulls by pulling back at his own chains, but the monk tugged harder, which caused him to fall over again.

As his feet and body were being dragged across the slippery floor, Owen's gaze desperately looked around him in search for anything, anything at all.

"Abby!" Owen cried. "Abby, can you hear me?"

This was wrong.

Whatever they were about to do was wrong.

Owen could see glimpses of the altar the monks were dragging him to.

"Listen to me!" Owen said, addressing the monks. "You don't have to do this! I could help you! Whoever you are!"

The monk swept the ornaments from the altar with a mighty sweep of his hand.

A silver chalice fell bouncing to the marble floor until it rolled out of sight.

In the corner of his eyes Owen could see three other monks lighting the candles around them and an unconscious man lying on the floor in the back with a bloody dent on his balding head.

Owen was put with his back against the altar, right underneath the giant, gold statue of Jesus on his cross, which was hanging on wires and seemed to float in mid-air right above him in the dark, reflecting desperate moonlight.

Owen tried to get up, but the monk nudged him back in place with a firm push with the wooden handle of his massive scythe.

With a calm defiance he looked up into the monk's hood, seeing a cold, emotionless human face with dark eyes gazing back, clouded by shadow.

They strode within the shadows, circling them, the darkness within the darkness, chanting in ancient whispers and dark tongues.

The giant windows let moonlight penetrate the darkness and blinded Owen as he sat in the middle of it.

On the outside, looking in, stood the monk who guarded Abigail, who it turns out wasn't unconscious. She was softly crying, shivering in the cold.

Owen wanted to help her, he wanted to tell her something, but the disciples of death wouldn't let him. So instead he tried his best to silently glare at her, hoping she would see his eyes and get his message.

He focused hard, almost as if he wanted to reach her telepathically.

Look at me.

The golden statue hung above him like an ominous blade.

The disciples were chanting heavily now as the moment of truth approached.

Owen wanted to say something to the monks, tell them to leave Abigail alone, but that could make them do exactly what Owen did not want them to do, and that's kill her.

"Take me," Owen chanted in his mind. "Take me, not her, _me_."

He closed his eyes and tried not to think of Abigail's tears.

"Repent," one of the monks suddenly spoke.

Owen slowly turned his head to look at him.

The monk who guarded him aimed his scythe away from Owen's throat and stepped aside for the other dark disciple to enter the moonlight.

Owen said nothing.

"Repent," the monk repeated.

His voice was dark and booming, yet gravelly and bitter.

"Repent."

Owen couldn't work out which one was speaking, which one was the leader.

The monk strode across the moonlit marble, through soft candlelight and darkened halls.

Come on, Abigail.

Her sobbing was soft yet pertinent and ghastly hopeless.

Don't give up, Abigail.

Take me, not her.

"Have no faith in your dying world," the voice spoke. "It will be born again, through fire and water. You will tell us where we can find the Spark, or we shall find other ways."

"Please don't kill us," Owen cried desperately, in his best faked voice of terror.

He gazed up at the monk, knowing he could not fake this and gaze sideways at Abigail to see if she was watching.

"Then repent, child, and you shall be saved." the dark voice spoke.

"Why us?" Owen asked. "Who are you?"

"We are the disciples." the dark voice spoke from the minds of blackened souls.

Their scythes gleamed in the light of the moon.

"Worshippers of the true Gods, of life and death. Nothing else matters."

"But why us?" Owen asked.

"Never question the will of destiny," the monk spoke darkly. "You shall not be saved."

Owen smiled at the irony in his words.

"Girl," the voice said. "You are young. You can live your life true. Repent, and all will be clear. There will be no more chaos."

Abigail suddenly laughed loudly through her tears.

"Chaos. That's a good one. The story of my life, that is. One big fucking joke. One big fucking mess!"

Owen tried to grab her attention using nothing but his eyes.

Look at me.

She shackled her chains. The monk beside her pushed her down when she tried to get up.

"Abigail, no!" Owen cried.

"Everything I've ever done. Every life I tried to lead. It all went to shit." Abigail said.

"Abigail, don't tell them!" Owen yelled.

Immediately Owen was pushed back against the altar, just before he saw the silver gleam of a blade underneath his chin.

Owen couldn't have planned it better.

"Give us the Spark," the dark voice demanded.

Abigail's tears were still flowing from her raging eyes as she stood up.

They allowed it.

Abigail didn't know what to do, until she looked at Owen and saw him winking quickly.

The monks hadn't seen it.

Abigail gathered her strength and looked at all of the deadly disciples.

She tried to control her erratic breathing and shivering, twitching organs and the fear that gripped her heart as she stood in the moonlight.

Her lips tried to form a sentence, but the first time they failed, because they were shivering too much.

"You want your Spark?" she said. "You really want it?"

Owen wrapped his chains around the sharp scythe's blade and pushed it away from him.

Through the power of momentum Owen got up from the floor and fought the monk for his blade, before they overpowered him and pushed him on top of the altar where he lay motionless with a scythe above his throat once more.

"You cannot stop the inevitable. Surrender to our will. Give us what we want, or I will kill him."

Abigail's shivers intensified, the wink was just a passing memory.

No plan, no hope, no help, no life, no reason.

They were alone.

They were going to die alone.

"Give us the Spark! Where is it?"

"I don't know!" Abigail cried. "What the hell is a spark? What do you want it for? I really don't know!"

"You know where it is!" the dark voice yelled.

"No!" Abigail cried as her insides turned to mush as her senses dipped her in cold agonising sweat and tears. Pain tingled everywhere, and all she wanted to do was lie down and die.

"Tell us!"

"No!"

The scythe was raised above their heads, shimmering for one fatal second in the pale moonlight before it fell down and struck Owen's heart with a terrifying blow.


	45. Chapter 45

"I've made you dinner," Rhys said as Gwen shut the door of their home behind her.

He walked straight into the kitchen to see how his eatable contraptions were doing.

"Oh, that's sweet," Gwen replied.

"I am that, yeah," Rhys said, making Gwen laugh.

Gwen saw how Rhys kneeled down and fiddled with the oven's controls.

'I didn't even know that thing still worked!" she said as she hung her coat on a coat stand. "I've been eating out for so long I barely knew we had one."

"I knew," Rhys said. "And you won't believe what I made you."

"What?"

Rhys loved how her eyes sparkled when she smiled.

When she'd walked through that door it seemed like a weight fell of her shoulders, all her worries simply faded away. But Rhys could tell it wasn't forgotten. How could anyone forget what she had endured for so long, ever since she joined Torchwood?

"Chicken roast." Rhys answered after a pause.

"You what?" Gwen said surprised.

"I bought the ingredients and everything. I even borrowed some sauces from Miss Milligan next door."

Gwen glanced into her home and saw the computer was on. The desktop showed a happy picture of their honeymoon, where they were both smiling in the warm sun.

"She said we shouldn't bother in returning them, but I'm going to do it anyway. She's going to hate me if I don't."

Rhys put two oven mittens on and opened the oven. A gust of heat breathed into his face.

"Ah, I don't believe this! I thought it would be done by now!" he said as he gazed into the oven. He checked his watch. "I left it here for hours. I had timed everything for tonight and now the chicken isn't done! Gwen?"

He glanced around into the living room from his kneeled position, but he could only see Gwen's feet shuffling slowly across the floor.

He closed the oven and when he got up he saw how Gwen held her phone against her ear and walked absently into the middle of the room.

"What's going on?" he could hear her saying. "What happened? Where is he?"

"Gwen?" Rhys asked.

"How the hell did this happen?" she cried into her mobile. "Fine. I'm on my way now."

She snapped her mobile shut, before she tugged her long hair backwards, out of her face and snatched her car keys from the kitchen counter without even looking.

"Who was that?" Rhys asked as he placed his hands on the counter. "Something wrong?"

Gwen grabbed her coat. "That was Jack."

"No," Rhys said, but she didn't hear him.

"Owen's in trouble."

"No, no, no, no, no!" Rhys said and his voice grew louder and louder with each word. He stampeded around the kitchen counter to point his angry finger right in Gwen's face.

"I have to," Gwen said.

"I have been waiting all day for you," Rhys said. "I even took a day off work, but you had to go and do whatever it is you had to do."

Gwen swiftly wiped her sweaty forehead with a nervous and shivering hand.

"I'll make it up to you," she said to him as she put on her coat. "I'm sorry."

"Now what the hell am I going to do with sorry?" Rhys said. "I made flippin' dinner!"

"I'm sorry! I really am!" Gwen said.

"There's that word again!" Rhys shouted.

She put his arm around his neck and pressed her lips tightly on to his.

Then she let go and looked into his eyes.

"Listen to me, please," she said. "I have to go."

She walked towards the door without looking away from Rhys.

He stood there by the dinner table, trembling at his very core and soul.

"Fine," he said, and then he swallowed. "But I'm coming with you."

Gwen didn't even have to say 'what'.

Rhys paced into the kitchen to turn the oven off, before he grabbed his coat.

Gwen tried to make him change his mind, but he wouldn't budge.

"I'm not letting you get away that easily." he said jokingly.


	46. Chapter 46

As he opened his eyes gray shapes of hooded men surrounded him, holding long scythes in their pale hands, and for a moment Owen closed his eyes again and imagined death's arrival.

Maybe this time, this charmed third time, death would finally come for him truly, ultimately, finally and never let him go again. In the dead of silence he could truly rest, in this place of forgiveness and peace of which he had read so much. There was no pain, no little voice inside his head anymore, thinking, talking, never shutting up. Just shut up.

But everything around him continued living, and there was another helpless voice crying somewhere in the dark. One of the lucky few who still had blood to bleed and tears to cry.

And suffer. To feel pain is to be alive.

"Your evil shall perish," the dark voice spoke, as more monks appeared from the shadows."All its secrets revealed."

They approached the altar carrying fiery torches which burned brightly in the dark cathedral.

On the other side there were bowls of dark oil being carried towards the place of sacrifice.

Abigail watched the monks stride past as the robed figure behind her pressed her back on to her knees, forcing her to sit and watch how her mysterious saviour, her impossible love and murderer be burned.

The leader of the disciples took his blade out of Owen's chest, leaving behind a misshapen hole where his heart used to be, oozing internal liquids and dead blood.

He walked towards Abigail, still holding his bloodied scythe, and kneeled down before her.

As the approaching fires grew stronger the shadows underneath the robed man faltered and receded.

And in the red glow of fire and pale light of the moon, Abigail could see the old man's face beneath the dark, shapeless hood.

It was a normal, human face, kind, almost handsome, without eyebrows or any sign of facial hair, yet it was extremely pale, almost morbid, but when Abigail looked up at his eyes she looked away. She would've backed away if she could. His eyes had been stitched shut.

"We don't need eyes to see, for we see so much more," he said to her. "Your world shall be purged. Your world shall be cleansed of sin, as it is in heaven. Rid yourself of all lies and secrets. No need to save this dying world. Repent, child, while you still can. Tell us where we can find the Spark!"

Abigail looked through her tears and gazed at the alien with the human smile.

"Who are you?" she asked, and the monk rose to his feet.

"Only few know our true name." the monk spoke. In the darkness the monks chanted and formed a circle around the alter on which Owen lay spread, imitating the dead.

The circle of monks around Owen held their torches high above their heads as others presented the oil. The flames were reflected in its dark surfaces within the bowls.

Owen watched the light shimmer on the cathedral's high ceiling. The statues watched in silence. It was time.

"No!" Abigail cried.

When she finally realized what they were about to do it was too late.

Owen interrupted his own ritual killing by kicking one of the disciples, who spilled the dark contents of the bowl over his black robes. Others stumbled backwards, spilling more across the floor, as Owen grabbed a torch out of their hands and quickly lit it on fire.

Abigail watched silently as the flames rose higher. The monks burned, without even raising their voices or screaming in pain. There was only death.

"You should be dead!" their leader cried.

Owen wrestled with the monks over their scythes, fighting them with an impossible passion his own heart had never felt. He knocked one of the monks out and stole his scythe, which he immediately used to chop a chunk of flesh out of another's shoulder.

"Oh, I am that," Owen spoke.

The fire spread across the cathedral's floor, setting tapestries and pillars ablaze with yellow flames. It frightened the deadly disciples.

Owen fought his way through the fire and attacked Abigail's captor, who tried to lead her away. Owen forced the monk to face him, after which Abigail punched him in the stomach. She quickly joined Owen's side.

The fires raged on and absorbed all material within reach to quell its hunger. It grew larger and larger and the cathedral burned.

The monks backed away, before they regrouped and started to surround Owen and Abigail, cutting off their escape and leaving them with no alternative but to step into the centre of the blazing fire, which the monks feared most of all.

In the fire's glow they could see their faces, deathly pale and without emotion.

Owen gripped his scythe as he stood there in the centre of the raging flames and the burning altar.

"What are you?" the leader said with his dark voice.

"You don't want to know," Owen replied.

The leader's mouth curled into an expression of disgust.

"Demon," he spoke.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," Owen said, stepping from the inferno as if there was nothing around him. And indeed the fires did not touch him. Abigail coughed and watched above how the ceiling started to burn, in front of her how the church benches caught fire and behind her how the tapestries melted off the walls.

"What I'm capable of right now. So little I've got left, and I'm going to fight for it, with every drop of existence I've got left."

Suddenly he smiled.

"You really didn't see me coming, did you? In all fairness, nobody did. I shouldn't be here. And neither should you."

The leader opened his mouth to let out an unearthly cry and he attacked Owen viciously. He barely managed to block his attack by pushing the scythe away. Its sharp blade still scarred Joseph's forehead, before Owen managed to push him away completely.

He blocked another attack and afterwards he quickly scraped his scythe across the spilled, burning oil on the floor. Now, his fiery blade struck fear into the hearts of the monks who quickly backed away in awe and terror, but Owen never stopped hitting them. He never stopped as the cathedral burned around them, consuming everything in its path.

Until the rampage ended. Suddenly Owen was struck in the head with the wooden end of a scythe and he fell down in Abigail's arms and didn't wake up. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what happened. She could only see how the disciples ganged up on her and more and more seemed to appear out of the diminishing shadows.

She prayed and hoped and pinched herself to wake up from this dark dream and wake up in bed once again. Her friend was going to make her pancakes. She could already smell them in the air as it rose upwards past the staircase, all the way from the kitchen. She would call out her name and comfort her for Joseph's passing. He had died, and nothing was ever going to bring him back from the dead.

She now held him in her arms and she kneeled on the floor in the light of the raging fire.

The monks were hesitant in staying any longer in this unstable building. It could fall apart at any minute. More humans could show up and gather around this church. They would be trapped, forced to face humanity head on in battle, and they would lose.

They knew this to be fact, especially after battling the man with the bleeding heart, who got up without pain after a mortal wound.

As they watched the fire growing, they knew they would have to leave.

"This is not over," their leader spoke. "Your world will flood. Your world will burn. It must. The evil must be stopped before it spreads once again."

Abigail didn't care. She screamed at them with raging tears, her fingers clenching Joseph's chest.

They vanished into the shadows and she cradled the dead once again in her arms, not knowing if she wanted him to wake up, or not.


	47. Chapter 47

There was a intoxicated man walking past St. David's Hall, taking his Irish Terrier out for a final stroll before he'd hit the sack. Cardiff Market was locked up and dark, but there was something strange about St. John's Church as it's walls and windows started glowing orange.

He no longer felt the tugging of the dog as it picked up other scents, and he stood there gazing at the dark cathedral in the distance, wondering if this was really happening, or if someone had slipped something into his drink some time ago.

Roaring sirens of approaching fire engines in the distance quickly filled the cold, night air as other bystanders formed a circle around the burning church. The same cold wind now rushed into the tired man's face as shadows moved in the corner of his eyes. His dog started to back away in fright, rearing its tail between its hind legs, before barking insanely at the night.

"Stop it!" the man cried as his arm was nearly ripped out of its socket. The dog was aggressive to a point. The hairs on its back stood upright and its lips curled upward, revealing dangerous teeth, which glistened in the moonlight. The man didn't know why the dog did this. It wasn't even his dog. The dog kept barking and he kept telling it not to do it, raising his hand towards the dog and waving his finger around for the dog to see, but the dog wouldn't listen.

"Shut up!" the man yelled.

He didn't see the dark shape that emerged from the shadow with a rapid, almost fluent pace, taking only one step to approach his target. He raised his scythe, its blade glimmered in the light of the moon, and no two seconds later it was covered in blood.

* * *

Jack and Ianto drove the SUV through the streets of Cardiff, with its blackened windows.

They drove up the main street towards Bute Park, past the Milennium Stadion. Groups had gathered there in the night and neither Jack nor Ianto could tell whether they had gone there for the upcoming rugby match or music concert. Jack, however, was forced to stop when one man and friend walked straight out on to the road without looking. He braked just in time to blind them with his huge headlights. They walked on to the other side of the road without causing trouble.

In the distance they could see a fire engine driving past Bute Park. Then another.

"They're in a hurry," Ianto said.

Jack tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. The two men who had passed them lingered to watch the big, black SUV just stand there in the middle of the street.

Jack made up his mind.

He put his foot down on the throttle and rapidly turned right the first chance he got.

"What are you doing?" Ianto asked.

"Skipping a few scenes," Jack said, gazing firmly ahead.

The black smoke was almost invisible in the starless, pitch black night sky, but still it billowed upwards from the burning church roof.

Firemen gathered to contain the fire as quickly and efficiently as possible, rushing inside the burning building to save two survivors.

"It's too close to be a coincidence," Jack said, turning on his microphone and earpiece. "Gwen, can you hear me?"

* * *

The woman was charred and beaten, yet she still dragged her boyfriend's unconscious body out of the cathedral. The firemen quickly helped her out of the smoke and debris of the burning building and immediately put her on some oxygen.

Paramedics immediately rushed to take the two survivors out of their hands.

* * *

"What's happening?" Gwen asked. "I can see smoke rising into the air, Jack. Is it serious?"

She drove her own car to the crime-scene, with Rhys looking worried in the passenger seat.

They could see the crippled bus from where she parked the car. They released their seat belts and stepped out of the car. Gwen signed Rhys to follow her.

"I think these two things might be related," Jack said. "Ianto and I are going to check it out. Is that Rhys I hear?"

Gwen swallowed as she and Rhys walked past Bute Park's Animal Wall.

"He offered to help." She said.

Jack gripped the steering wheel as he faced the upcoming barricade.

"He's a civilian." Jack said cross.

"It's Rhys, Jack!" Gwen cried.

"Just don't let him touch anything, say anything, do anything…" Jack added.

"Just give him some ice cream and he'll be fine." Ianto quipped, before realising he had been rude. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

Jack parked his SUV in the middle of the road, in front of a restaurant, just beyond the barricade of fire engines and police tape. After He and Ianto walked right in, towards the fiery inferno ahead, without a second glance, looking like they owned the place.

"Torchwood," Jack merely said to the constable, after diving under the police tape, without looking at her once and she let them pass.

* * *

Rhys followed Gwen with both hands stuck in his pockets. He nervously checked to see if he still had the key to his home with him, and not left it on the kitchen counter like he had done many times before. The metal key glimmered in the streetlight, until it slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. Rhys quickly picked it up, only to see how Gwen had outrun him to the crime scene.

"Hold on!" he said as he followed her to the barricade. He tried to dive underneath it like Gwen had, but the constable wouldn't let him pass.

"I'm sorry, Rhys," Gwen said to Rhys as she came back for him. "You can't follow me here. I'm sorry. I'll be back."

Rhys couldn't believe it.

He had been determined to follow her everywhere, to help her, to keep her from slipping away, and now the only thing that stood between him and his wife was a bloody piece of police tape. He grabbed it angrily and shook it about a bit, but that was all he did, as he watched Gwen enter the crashed bus. He tried to see what she was doing, who she was talking to, but it was almost impossible to see.

"Hey," a familiar, yet annoying voice said to Rhys as a man in uniform walked up to him.

Rhys recognised PC Andy and swallowed. Andy stepped in front of him, striking up a conversation whilst Rhys tried to see past him into the damaged bus.

"Hiya Andy…" Rhys said.

"You here with Gwen?" Andy asked. "Of course you are. Torchwood business eh. Hold on, is this another one of those _whatsumathingemies_?"

"What?" Rhys asked confused.

"…alien intervention…" Andy said mysteriously, looking down into his eyes to see if anything might spark a thought.

"I don't know," Rhys said. "Looks like just another _buscrash-thingemie_ to me. Is that a word?"

Andy gasped. "So you know? About aliens?"

He whispered the last part excitedly.

"I don't know," Rhys spoke, trying to catch a glimpse of Gwen as she got out of the bus.

"You know!" Andy whispered loudly. "I thought everyone on the outside was supposed to be getting his memories erased, although I suppose being Gwen's husband helps."

"I have no idea what you're on about," Rhys said firmly, protecting Gwen and Torchwood with the best poker face he could muster.

"You're not telling me, eh?" Andy said, getting the message. "Fair enough. I understand."

Rhys could tell he was disappointed, although he couldn't sense the strange and dark silence as Andy sighed and looked down upon him.

"What happened here, Andy?" Rhys asked as his eyes analyzed the bus.

Andy laughed.

"Now I'm supposed to tell you?" he said.

"Well, I'm going to find out anyway, won't I?" Rhys said, pointing at Gwen as she carried on the investigation and Andy sighed and nodded as he watched her too.

A grim breeze fell down to the Earth from the sky, bringing with it a blanket of tiny water drops, which floated away in the chilling wind.

"Seriously, though," Andy said, remembering what he had seen inside the bus. "You don't want to know."

Rhys couldn't help but smile as he looked into the constable's eyes.

"My words exactly." he replied.

Gwen brushed her hands to her slightly wet hair as she came back for Rhys. She greeted Andy with a smile and he smiled back, but her smile soon faded. She didn't have time for niceties so she had Rhys step beyond the police tape and made him follow her into the centre.

Andy's gaze lingered just a few seconds longer on Gwen as she walked away, before he readjusted the police tape and pretended like it never happened.

"You okay?" Rhys asked. "Did you find anything?"

Her sad eyes toughened up as she took Rhys' hand within hers.

"I'm glad you're here," Gwen then said and she took a deep breath.

As she and Rhys walked away silently from the crime scene and towards the next, the images of the massacre inside the bus haunted her mind. She kept moving her hands through her hair, but the blood wouldn't come out.


	48. Chapter 48

Sirens in the dark roared silently, turning the night red in sweeping motions.

The church fire had been put out, yet most of the old building had not survived. It stood there now, charred and smoking, an echo of its former beauty. Architecture and history lost until renovation would recommence. Firemen searched the debris, discovering the blackened remains of a man underneath piles of ash.

Jack looked up from his crouched position when the firemen yelled for help, sitting in the centre of this second crime scene. He looked down upon the corpse of a young man and his dog. Jack sighed and seemingly rubbed the dirt of his hands as he examined the huge, bloody gash in the man's back. His pale face now flattened the asphalt in a pool of blood, his eyes gazed out into nothing.

He looked up at Ianto and shook his head.

"It's them," he said.

"Who?" DCI Valerie Seasons asked, looking down on Jack with her arms folded front.

The red light made her sleek grey suit look sexy, which made it harder for Jack to pretend she wasn't there.

"They called my bluff," Jack said to Ianto and got up from his crouched position.

Jack got up and let the police photographers do their work, before covering the body up with a white sheet. The sheet absorbed the fresh drops of blood on the ground into its fibres.

"Captain." DCI Seasons spoke, demanding that he spoke to her. "If you are withholding vital information…"

"What now?!" Jack retorted loudly. "I'm sorry, Valerie, but I'm a little bit busy."

"What do I tell the press?" she asked of him. "What do I tell his mother?"

Jack clenched his jaws shut and looked her in the eyes.

"Tell them what you always tell them." Jack sighed. "'Unsolved' sounds much nicer than, say, 'death by alien', don't you think?"

"So he _was_ killed by aliens?" Valerie asked.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Jack replied.

Ianto glanced away at the sky when Valerie got close and personal by means of a short step.

Jack was slightly taller than she was, but she still managed to look him in the eyes.

"This isn't a game, Jack." she whispered. "This man is dead."

"And a lot more people will die if you just let me do my job!" Jack spoke.

For one moment she looked at him and then she turned away.

"What about his body?" Ianto asked.

'They can have him," Jack said, referring to the police, and he would've walked away if Valerie hadn't returned that same second.

"Are these with you?" she asked and she pointed at a man and a woman who waited at the edge of the crime scene.

"Let them pass!" Jack said and as they dove underneath the police tape they walked towards them. Jack met them halfway.

"Let me guess…" he spoke. "Long blades? Stick to the shadows? Robe fetish?"

"According to the witnesses…how'd you know?"

Jack pointed to the corpse under the white sheet on the other side of the street.

"You should've seen what they did to the bus driver," Gwen said. "Nothing but bloody bits and pieces. It's sick."

Rhys looked at Gwen. She hadn't told him that. He remembered Andy's words and he turned his eyes to the ground in silence, then to the sky in terror.

Jack nodded.

"They even killed his dog." Ianto added.

Rhys was disgusted.

"We've got to find them Jack." Gwen cried. "They've got Owen!"

"No." Jack spoke determined and Gwen lost her voice. "We need to find out what happened, find out what they're after and stop it."

"What? Who?" Rhys asked. They ignored him.

"There's a whole segment of the puzzle we're missing here." Jack went on. "The bus, the church, the dog-walker…"

"What?!" DCI Seasons yelled.

She walked by their little meeting and overheard their words.

"Are you saying these cases are related?"

"Confidential!" Jack yelled.

"Transparency!" DCI Seasons yelled back. "You're not God, Jack!"

Jack would've said something back if Gwen hadn't stopped him.

"Don't." Gwen said to Jack, seeing in his eyes just what he was about to say.

"The warehouse." Jack continued. "What were they doing there? We need to go back. We need to find out what's going on."

"What about survivors?" Gwen spoke. Any witnesses who can tell us what happened inside that church…"

"A crazed woman was saved from the burning church when the firemen arrived." Ianto spoke. "She was found dragging her boyfriend's body outside. She attacked them when they tried to take him away."

"Body?" Jack asked.

"Did the boyfriend have a gunshot wound in the shoulder?" Gwen asked.

"What was the woman's name?" Jack asked.

Ianto swiftly skimmed his notes.

"I didn't get the woman's name," he spoke. "But the boyfriend _did _have a gunshot wound in the shoulder, and a huge gash in his chest, probably caused by a vicious stabbing. He was described as being tall, in his late twenties, with a pale complexion. They had both been slightly burnt, with minor injuries, apart from the fact that _he had been dead for at least a week._"

"Owen." Gwen quickly stated, after which they all quickly headed back to the SUV.

"Gunshot wound?" Jack asked Gwen.

"I shot him." Gwen answered matter-of-factly.

A girl was crying not too far away, desperately comforted by the arms of a policewoman, who escorted her away.

"I asked him to walk my dog for me," she said to her. "I was working late and I couldn't….I asked him to do it for me…"

The policewoman did her best to calm her down. The Torchwood Team looked away.

* * *

They quickly drove down the streets of Cardiff, whilst enquiring over the phone where the victims of the church fire had been transported to. They had already begun Joseph's second post mortem.

Rhys sat in the back seat next to Ianto, where apart from Gwen's enquiries over the phone they all were strangely silent. It felt frightfully tense, sitting there with the people his wife worked with, and he supposedly knew, in the dark, feeling every whim of light from adjacent streetlights glide over your body as the SUV would race past them. It didn't feel like a job anymore. Not even a mission.

It felt like they were all preparing, internally, for some big, upcoming battle that they were getting to soon.

Something was stirring, not only out there, but in here, in this very car, beside Rhys in the dark.

Ianto looked up at Rhys and smiled amused.

Rhys was terrified.

* * *

They parked in front of the morgue and stepped out of the car simultaneously, before bursting through the building's doors, passing the clerk with a single word and heading into the coroner's office.

They all just followed the man in the blue pea coat.

Rhys merely followed them through the corridor, flabbergasted and speechless and trembling with every fibre of his being. But he never hesitated.

He followed them into the morgue, where they found the metal collection of drawers where the bodies were stored.

They all started to open every drawer, one at a time, to find Owen Harper, only Rhys still stood by the door, as if frozen. He realized what sort of nightmare Owen would have to wake up to once inside those drawers. Stuck in a bag, in a cold, metal box with nothing but darkness, where no-one would hear ever him scream.

"To wake up in one of those things," Rhys spoke terrified. "would be one of my worst nightmares."

"Don't worry," Gwen said, surprisingly chipper, as she opened drawer after drawer, desperately going from corpse to corpse to find Owen. "We'll probably find him laughing, cracking a joke..."

Jack didn't say anything.

Rhys was startled by how well Gwen thought she knew Owen. He tried to ignore these thoughts as he watched her and Ianto open the final drawer.

They saw the little paper attached to his toenail first as they slid the drawer open.

They folded the white sheet open and gazed upon Joseph's face.

He wasn't laughing.

In fact, he looked just as dead as all the other corpses they had come across in this morgue.

And whatever they said to him, he wasn't saying anything back.


	49. Chapter 49

"You shouldn't have brought him," Jack said to Gwen as they pushed the doors open and returned into the night outside.

In the light of the lampposts they could see a light haze of rain falling to the earth, which changed the colour of the streets into a darker shade. Water drops tickled the surface of small puddles beside the sidewalk .

"I thought we could use a hand," Gwen said as she turned to look at how Rhys and Ianto were carrying the body of Joseph Milton out of the coroner's office and towards the SUV.

"I have to admit he is strangely good with heavy lifting," Jack said. "But that's not why you did it."

"Too many broken promises," Gwen said.

"You thought he'd be used to it by now." Jack added. "I know, I know, he's your husband. But he shouldn't be here."

"I know," Gwen said, speaking softer so that Rhys wouldn't know they were talking about him. "I'm sorry."

Ianto and Rhys opened the back of the SUV and lifted Joseph's body inside. When Rhys looked up he could see Jack and Gwen share a strange and mysterious look, before Jack started smiling.

"Let's go," he said to his team.

"Aye aye captain," Ianto said as he closed the back of the SUV and reached for the door handle on the side.

"Now he's just trying to be funny," Jack said to Rhys before he did the same and jumped into the front seat.

Rhys didn't know what to think so he just stepped into the SUV and closed the door behind him as he sat down in the dark seat and reached for his seat belt.

"We just stole a body from the morgue," Rhys asked.

"Yeah," Jack replied. "Exciting, isn't it? Well, enjoy it while it lasts."

Jack pushed the car into a higher gear as he sped away into the city.

Rhys glanced at Gwen, who tried to reassure him with an awkward smile.

Ianto couldn't help but let out a giant yawn.

"I'm sorry, " he said, trying to cover up how tired he really was. "I'm just incredibly bored."

Suddenly Rhys was startled by the appearance of an activated computer screen that automatically placed itself and a keyboard in front of him, displaying all kinds of weird symbols on the desktop background before it turned into a series of difficult windows and channels. Before Rhys could ask what it was, they all started talking.

"So what do we got?" Jack asked.

Blue lights, embedded inside the car, were flowing upwards on either side of the car, filling the front seats with a strange blue light.

"No traces of any alien technology," Ianto spoke. "Judging by their appearance and demeanour I'd say they aren't the sort of type for that. They seem humanoid, but they aren't quite human."

"They can't stand the light." Gwen added. "It weakens them. The darkness makes them invulnerable."

"Not invulnerable." Jack corrected her. "It's hard to fight what you can't see."

"The warehouse," Gwen suddenly spoke. "Maybe they didn't choose that place to hide. Maybe there was more to it than we thought there was."

"No," Jack said as he checked his rear view mirror. He glanced at Rhys for a split second, before he continued. "We tore that place apart. There was nothing there."

"Maybe they're part chameleon," Ianto said. "Or shape shifters."

"Could be both." Jack added.

"So we actually don't know anything about them?" Gwen said and they both turned awkwardly silent for a moment as the light of lampposts on adjacent sides of the street flashed across the dashboard.

"Could someone please get this screen out of my face?" Rhys said. The brightness of the monitor blinded him inside this dark car. With the flick of a switch both Ianto's and Rhys's computers folded itself upright again and into a invisible position.

"So what do we do?" Ianto asked.

"I promised them a war, so I'm going to give them one." Jack said. "Just after I've paid a visit to a certain Abigail Williams and see what she has to say."

"Do you think she knows anything?" Gwen asked.

"Without Owen we can't be sure." Jack said as he raced past a slower moving car in the streets. "But the disciples captured them for a reason. They were after something. And she just might know what that was."

"But can we trust her?" Ianto asked.

Jack didn't answer him.

* * *

She stopped shivering now, as she put the cigarette to her mouth and took a deep breath.

Abigail had been gazing down upon the table for an hour now as the detectives fired question after question at her from its other side. They were growing impatient.

A psychiatrist had placed her hand upon hers in consolation, but it was just the same question, wrapped in a different package, looking for answers.

Answers she no longer cared for. Honestly she could care less. Instead she picked up smoking again. The only time when she opened her mouth was to ask for a cigarette, mere moments after breathing through an oxygen-mask which the paramedics handed her in the hospital.

Where? What? Why? Questions she should be asking them instead.

Her whole life and world had been wrecked down in one night, all her hopes and dreams smashed to bits in one single moment.

But it was all right. She was alive.

That was the only thing that meant anything to her as she looked into the psychiatrist's eyes, wondering if she was another figment of her imagination.

She smiled when she turned her back, maybe because it was fun to see them puzzle and struggle like herself not long ago. But they didn't know the truth.

"I'm not insane," she said to the walls when the psychiatrist had gone. She couldn't even believe her own words. What was she thinking?

"Maybe I am insane."

The next time they asked her: "What really happened inside that church?" she answered:

"I don't know. I really don't know."

And she smiled, chuckling with a sad eye as she spotted their frustration and anger.

One of the detectives even yelled at her, ignoring the psychiatrist's advice and his superior's orders.

"Two men are dead!" the detective cried. "You can't sit there and tell us you don't know what happened. Fact is, you were there!"

"There is a whole world out there we don't know about," Abigail said. "It's everywhere, hidden in plain sight. It's the shadow, the dark side of the Earth, and they took the one I loved and…and…"

She wanted to cry, but she couldn't.

"Was it him?" the detective asked, sliding a photograph towards her across the smooth table's surface. "How did he die, Abigail? You can tell us."

Abigail snapped.

"Just leave me alone!" she yelled and she slid the photo off the table.

She couldn't bear to look at his face any longer.

She leaped up from her chair and launched herself backwards against the wall, as far away as possible from the two detectives.

"We need you to tell us, Abigail!" the same detective cried desperate. "Men have died! We know someone set off that fire in the church! Tell us what happened! Who killed that man in the street?"

Abigail was startled. "I don't know anything about some man in the street!"

"So you do know about the church?" the detective quickly said. "Was it you? Did you start the fire!"

"No!"

"Then what, Abigail? Tell us!"

"NO!"

They were called back from the interrogation-room, both of them, for they had gone too far.

Their looks lingered on Abigail for a moment as she let herself down to sit in the dark corner, moping, brooding, and just closing her eyes in a tiresome, tearless weep. She pressed her temple against the cold wall as the thought of her own death haunted her mind.


	50. Chapter 50

All night he had been listening to the small radio in his hands.

The voices were almost too faint to hear, so he pressed it against his ear.

He retracted his legs to let pass the many busy people trying to catch their trains or whatever their destination or transportation might be.

This all happened not so long ago, just when the fire of the church had died down and its only survivor had been transported away.

Something was going on, and Mickey knew it.

He sat there on the ground inside Cardiff Grand Central Station for some time now, realizing his one ticket back to London cost a little too much for him.

If only he hadn't bought those chips before, then he could've probably made it on board.

But to go where?

The small radio within his hands started talking, voices were speaking of something horrible.

A girl and a body, coming from a fire.

If it hadn't been for her name he probably would've never got off that floor, not until the guards would show up and kindly ask him to leave.

They hadn't noticed him yet as he sat there in a dark corner at this late hour.

With his rough appearance, beard and gloves he frightened away some of the people that passed him by, but he ignored him as he focused on the words coming from the radio.

**More than an hour later**

There were no squealing tires when the black Torchwood SUV came roaring down the streets of Cardiff. The driver was bold, but professional in such a way that he manoeuvred perfectly through the obstacles in his path.

Its black tired sliced through deep puddles of water in the heavy haze of rain.

Jack squinted his eyes to see clearly into the dark night.

They could see their destination in the street ahead: a big, blue building of armoured glass in the dark with a few lights still on at this indecent hour.

Rhys gazed outside at the city at night, but saw nothing but houses and cars whizzing past until the SUV suddenly slowed down.

There was a figure standing in the streets, waving his hands about frantically as a sign for them to slow down.

He stood in the middle of the street in front of the police station in the pouring rain, but they couldn't see his face.

"Jack!" Mickey yelled.

Gwen looked at Jack's hands which she imagined to be gripping the steering wheel by now, seeing Mickey again, but they didn't.

Calmly Jack put the SUV on handbrake, released his seat belt and stepped outside.

Rhys merely followed their example when the others did the same.

Mickey was surprised to see Rhys with the team, but he quickly shrugged it off and focused on the job at hand.

"They've taken her!" Mickey cried through the pouring rain.

"Who did?" Jack shouted back.

Gwen grabbed his arm and signed Mickey to follow them inside the police station.

Ianto did the same to Rhys, signalling him to return back inside the car.

Rhys watched his wife follow Jack and Mickey inside, before he swallowed and did as Ianto asked.

Dripping water on to the neatly tiled white floor, they stood there by the entrance in bright light and stared at by many a police-officer still present this time of night.

"This'd better be good," Jack said to Mickey.

"I'm here to help!" Mickey replied anxiously and Jack waited. "It's about Abigail. She left."

"Left?"

"Not so much _left_ as _taken away._" Mickey added.

Gwen immediately approached the police desk manned by a spirited police-woman who folded her fingers enthusiastically upon seeing Gwen.

"I'm with Torchwood," Gwen asked and Jack and Mickey joined her side. "Has Abigail Williams been released?"

"Miss Abigial Williams walked out that door some ten minutes ago," the police-woman answered.

Gwen briefly glanced at Jack before adding:

"Do you know who picked her up? Friends, family…?"

"You're too late, Jack." A voice suddenly said and they turned to see DCI Valerie Seasons walking out of the elevator and towards the desk. "She's gone."

The police-woman backed away in her office-chair and pretended to be working on something else.

"Why release her?" Jack spoke, after glancing at Mickey who coolly gazed away at the detective chief inspector. "You don't just release your key witness. Your only witness!"

"I know now she wasn't going to tell us anything," Valerie said. "No matter what we would do. We can't help her, can we?"

Jack paused and took a deep breath.

"No." he finally said.

"I thought as much." Valerie said. "Is there anything I need to know before my city suffers another bomb strike?"

"Your city?" Jack asked.

Mickey nervously glanced at Jack, knowing that they could be losing valuable time.

"My city." Valerie said and smiled. "If I ask you what's going on, Jack, would you tell me?"

Jack smiled.

"If I answered you, would you believe me?" Jack replied and she chuckled and looked down.

"Where's Abigail Williams?"

Valerie looked up again and gazed into his eyes.

"You really are a mystery, Jack Harkness." she said.

She gazed into his eyes, before gazing at the people beside him as she reached across the desk to grab a folder, from which she took out a form and she handed it to Jack.

"She could be miles away by now," Valerie said as Jack looked at the form. "The man who picked her up called himself a friend of the family. It all checked out so I had to let her go."

"What was his name?" Gwen asked as Jack handed the form to Mickey, who looked down to read it.

"He called himself Mr. Crane."

* * *

Finally the truck stopped moving. They probably reached a red light or something that they had to stop. It wouldn't be long until the light would turn green.

There in the dark in front of Abigail sat an elderly man in an overcoat, wearing leather gloves and a pair of sleek silver rimmed glasses.

Two bulky thugs in black, woollen jumpers sat on either side of him, looking down on Abigail with a strange, restrained curiosity.

"Where are you taking me?" Abigail asked.

The elderly man smiled.

"Don't worry about it, love." he said to her, as the truck started to move again. "You're in safe hands now. Your uncle's been worried sick about you."


	51. Chapter 51

"In the 60's there lived a little girl named Kathy.

"She was smart, beautiful, always chewing her nails, though her mom told her not to. Mom's name was Phyllis. She just finished school and was enjoying her summer vacation when there was a knock at her front door. Her mom wasn't in, she was buying groceries down the street, she had no brothers or sisters and her dad had died when she was three, so she was all alone when a man showed up at her doorstep. She was barely thirteen years old and he took her."

"Where?" Gwen asked.

Jack looked at her, without tears in his eyes, just this hollow, like an old dead tree.

"I don't know. I never saw her again. Her mother never forgave me for losing her. She always insisted I knew what happened to her, but wouldn't tell her."

"Did you?" Gwen said, locking her gaze onto Jack's gaze, so as not to miss any blink or reaction in those ageless, immortal eyes.

"Yes." Jack simply said. "They dissected her. An Encarian science vessel visiting Earth wanted to buy a specimen, so he gave it to them."

"Who did?"

Jack paused for dramatic effect.

"Crane." he said, but Gwen wouldn't stop there.

"But I've heard that name before. There's something about that name…"

"Parallel Earth." Jack cut in.

* * *

"It's him, isn't it?" Mickey spoke excited as he ran back in the rain after Jack. "I knew it was him! I just knew it!"

"Go home, Mickey." Jack said and Mickey froze in mid step, feeling as if Jack had just slapped him in the face.

But he just stood there, with his back turned to him in the rain, looking at the leather strap around his wrist that contained his gizmo.

"But I know what's going on!" Mickey said. "I'm the expert on this!"

"You're not." Jack said. "We are."

"You need me Jack!"

"Wrong." Jack replied.

"Yeah, all right, I need you more! But you'll need my help!"

Jack finally turned around to face him. A blue light was buzzing on his wrist.

"Why are you here, Mickey?" he asked.

"Does it matter? Look, you know where this is going, Jack! Milton, Lumic, Crane! This here, this has all happened before!"

Jack straightened his back to look Mickey in the eyes. There was not a hint of anger in his voice as he said to him:

"You have no idea."

Without a moment's hesitation he hunched to fit inside the SUV and slammed the door shut.

Rhys and Gwen stood underneath the entrance to the police station, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes.

"I shouldn't have come, should I?" Rhys said. "It was stupid. I shouldn't have even thought it."

She placed her finger on his mouth, in a both blunt and gentle gesture.

"I have to go, and I'm leaving you here, because I don't want you to get hurt."

Rhys knew.

"You know that, right?"

"I miss you, Gwen." Rhys suddenly said. "I just do. This was supposed to be our day, remember? Sitting in our jimjams, making toast. You love that."

Gwen felt the clock ticking inside of her mind, constantly reminding her that a young woman's life was at stake, and every moment they spent talking here could mean losing her.

She gazed fiercely in Rhys' eyes with all the love in her heart, yet she could not restrain herself from saying this:

"I love this." she said, as the rain kept pouring in on the small glass roof above their head, a rattling muffled in the dark. "Doing this."

She squeezed his hand.

"I'll make it up to you. I swear. I love you."

"I love you too."

"You know where the car is, yeah?" she asked as she walked into the rain.

"I'll find it!" Rhys said, putting his hands into his pockets as he suddenly felt the cold, wet weather.

As the blue light fired up, the SUV's tires raged through the dark wet streets in brutal red terror.

**4 hours later**

The cold, hard wind was buzzing in their ears. The early sunrise gifted the world a pale white heaven, and the air itself was still dark and blue, and filled with shadow, as if morning itself was still waking up from a dark and endless night.

Their shoes sunk into the moist, wet mud. The grass danced in the wind, like a green ocean, reflecting sunlight in its lingering raindrops, spread over the land like a blanket of drops.

And whenever the wind blew it blew some of these drops into their faces, to wake them up if they would've gone to sleep that night.

"Over there!" Jack cried as he narrowed the sensor range on his wrist device, to focus on the screaming signal, bleeping in the morning light.

Ianto stumbled down the grassy hill and into the sunlight, seeing Gwen search the ground on the other side, but there was nothing to see but grass, dirt, and water, lots of water.

Persistent and refusing to give up, he finally glanced at something silver in the mud, in the direction Jack pointed to. It was Abigail's cell phone.

He picked it up and raised it into the air.

"Found it." he spoke.

But they lost Abigail.

Jack closed the leather strap around his wrist device and when Gwen and Ianto approached him again, standing by the side of the road, he joined their stride to walk back to the SUV.

"We never should have let her go." Gwen said.

"We didn't know." Ianto said, defending Jack.

"We should have." Gwen spoke tired.

Jack's pea coat flapped around in the hard wind, and Gwen's hair was uncontrollable.

"We need to get back control of the game." Jack said. "Now, before we lose everything."

"She could have lied to us. Maybe she knew all along." Ianto said.

"Nobody could've thrown that far." Gwen said, referring to the cell phone and where they found it.

"Well, if she doesn't know, then who does?" Jack asked as they approached the SUV.

The sun reflected coldly in the SUV's black exterior.

"Someone knows. They all seem to know something we don't. Whatever Abigail knows, or whatever they think she knows, I want to know."

"How?" Ianto said. "Without Owen?"

"Is there a connection between the fire of last night and Lumic?"

"You mean the demonic disciples and the disabled doctor?" Jack said.

"Owen." Ianto said. "It has to be Owen."

They opened the trunk of the SUV and looked down upon the white plastic bag within.

When they zipped it open, Joseph Milton's white corpse gazed back at them, but wasn't moving.

"_I would not stop for death_…" Ianto said and Gwen and Jack looked at him.


	52. Chapter 52

Ianto pulled into the underground carpark like he always did, but no longer alone.  
Gwen had insisted on joining him down into the 'tradesmen entrance', sneaking exposed into the car park underneath the Millenium Centre.  
When they passed Roald Dahl Pass they dropped Jack off, but Gwen had already been fast asleep by then.  
Ianto watched her from the corner of his eye as he sat in the passenger seat, wishing he could've done the same thing, but like always the pounding of his heart against the van's leather seats made him feel more at rest than anything.  
He carefully glimpsed at the overhead barrier as he entered, turning off his wipers and turning on his lights as he entered the gloom.  
Beams of light fell across Gwen's face, stirring her in her light sleep.  
He should've known it would have been impossible to fall asleep listening to the van's roaring engine.  
She lifted her head from the glass and looked up to watch Ianto park the van into the registered bay.  
The car park was silent and empty, but for a few cars that had been left standing there over night.  
Ianto nodded at the security guard and checked to see if they were all alone but for him.  
Gwen and he watched his yellow uniform vanish around the corner before they finally opened the trunk and got him out.  
The metal trolley folded outwards, spawning legs and wheels as they pulled it out of the back of the van, and Owen lay on top of it inside a black, leather bag.  
They quickly wheeled it over to a door marked 'Private' and looked up to let the security camera analyze their retinas, to determine whether or not they were granted access or not.

As they emerged from the damp tunnel they heard rash footfalls, stomping down a flight of metal stairs. Jack read out loud from a file, welcoming them back into the Hub.  
"Abigail Williams, 28 years old," he said. "Not special, not too bright, middle-class family worked hard to put her through medical school, and she works as a nurse at Saint Mary's hospital for the past three years."  
He slapped the file shut between his hand.  
"What are we missing?"  
He helped them wheel Owen's body to the Autopsy Room, giving Gwen the chance to pick up her phone and call Rhys.  
They attached the slab to a chain winch bolted into the ceiling, lifted it up and lowered it into the Autopsy Room, so that it was sat on the examination table.  
They dusted off their hands and sighed when they were done and when their eyes crossed Jack smiled approvingly.  
"Did you find it?" Gwen spoke into her phone, biting off a chip of her nail. She cursed when she noticed.

Ianto returned to his desk, half expecting it to be covered in a layer of dust, and he scanned his monitor for any changes in Rift activity.  
"Chronon activity," he spoke and Jack turned his head.  
"What?"  
"There's been a surge in chronon activity some three days ago…"  
Jack lunged himself at Ianto's desk to read his monitor.  
Ianto didn't mind him sitting that close.

"I'm just glad you're all right," Gwen said to Rhys.  
"Did you find her?" Rhys asked. "That girl you were looking for?"  
Gwen's eyes turned and found Jack looking right back at her, and she stammered, knowing she shouldn't be discussing Torchwood business with civilians.  
She took it upon herself to end it right then and there.  
She didn't mean to sound so cross, but it just happened.  
"I can't tell you, okay? There's just too many things going on right now and it's best that you let us handle this on our own. Don't think about it, Rhys. Please."  
"Can't I worry about my wife?" Rhys said.  
"Get some sleep, Rhys." Gwen said, retreating into kindness again. "…I love you."  
The silence itself on the other end as Rhys ended the conversation hurt her more than enough, less than it should, but she knew she had to take it and leave it. There were better things to do, more important things to tackle.  
Owen was lying on the autopsy table for the second time in his undead life and there was no way of telling if he was ever coming back again.

"The energy's still there," Ianto said, waving the whistling scanner across Owen's chest. "Fluctuating, but dormant."  
Jack put his hands in his pockets. "We'll have to wait till he wakes up. Now I know how you guys must feel."  
They could barely smile.  
Ianto had already started doing his rounds, preparing his chores and making his magical coffee.  
Gwen had watched Jack run through the CCTV footage of last night, watching the kidnappers without as much of a clue to where they might have taken Abigail.  
"If only Toshiko were here," Gwen said, rubbing her eye. "We could've used her magic fingers."  
She didn't expect a response from Jack, but she did watch him closely.  
"They need her for something," Jack said. "But what do the shapeshifters have to do with it?"  
"You mean the _disciples_?"Ianto said as he joined them, carrying a plate with three mugs filled with coffee in his hands.  
"I'm still looking for the right name for them," Jack replied with a teasing wink.  
"Heavenly," he added when he took a zip from his coffee and wiped his mouth. "_Chronon_, why _chronon_?"  
"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.  
"If there was a surge in Void particles, I'd understand, but _chronon_? Wait..."  
His eyes lit up and he jumped from his seat to turn to his team.  
He put down his mug to free his hands to talk.  
They loved it when he did this.

"Lumic's Cybermen were made in a parallel world, not too different from our own. In their reality they almost took over the world if the Doctor hadn't stopped them in time. In that reality, Lumic died, but in our reality he lives."  
"He's creating Cybermen," Ianto said, but Jack hadn't finished.  
"Their world was a few years ahead of ours. They had technology way more advanced than us, but also different. What happened there doesn't have to happen here. It's a different world, different people, different technology. History doesn't have to repeat itself. Lumic's Cybermen could possibly never return at all. He lost his company, remember? History is changed, yet lucky for us, history has its way of restructuring itself when people and events coincide like before."  
Ianto nodded: "Everything happens in a time and a place."  
Gwen was shaking her head. "Wait, what?"  
"The option for that reality is still there, only it could've been mutated, altered, by different people, events, technology. There's no Cybus Industries here, there's Shelby Industries. Instead of cats, there'll be dogs, but in the end they'll still scratch you. You'll still be bleeding."  
"But why would you think that?" Gwen asked. "Why would it still happen? Is it because of Abigail? Is it because of Joe Milton?"  
"Mickey said he was the first Cyberman." Jack explained. "In his world, Abigail Williams died. Heartbroken, he volunteered for the experimental procedure, to rid himself of all emotion. He was the first to die. Here, he pushed her out of the bullet's way and died saving her. But it didn't end there."  
"Owen." Gwen said.  
"He came back from the dead, by possessing Joe's body. The body of Joseph Milton, out of hundreds of bodies at that cemetery. Why? I don't know."  
"Divine comedy." Ianto quipped, without as much interrupting Jack.  
"It set this in motion. It probably gave John Lumic the inspiration he needed to restart his cybernetic work."  
"But didn't we erase his memories?" Gwen asked.  
Jack picked up a disc from Gwen's desk.  
"Film never forgets." Jack said, implying that Lumic probably had secret cameras installed in his sister's house, a security system that had recorded their every move, more importantly the moment they slipped two small retcon pills in their coffees.

"But then how does that explain the chronon surge?" Ianto asked. "Is John Lumic travelling through time?"  
"I seriously doubt that," Jack said. "But there's more than one way to travel from one parallel world to another. One is to rip holes in the fabric of dimension and jump from one universe to the next. Another is to travel all the way back in time to the moment the realities separated, and then making sure that you're in the right one."  
"And how do you do that?" Ianto asked.  
"Changing the timeline is easy," Jack said with a smile, and Ianto knew he was talking from experience. "It's what happens afterwards that's the hardest part. According to that scan, something arrived through time three days ago, giving off a massive wave of chronon particles, but it could've been anything. The real question is...why didn't we know of it sooner?"

Gwen was overwhelmed with answers, parallel worlds and altered timelines, but all she could see was that girl down in the vaults, screaming to see her Joe again.  
He was willing to give up everything for her, she was willing to endure torture for him.  
"We're missing the point of it all," Gwen said after a while. "This is not about Cybermen, or Lumic, this is about a boy and a girl…whose love almost destroyed the world. They're the key to it all, and I just know it."  
Jack put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  
"What do you want us to do?" he said. "We don't have the boy, and we don't have the girl."  
Gwen's head was spinning.  
"But we have Joseph Milton, don't we?" she suddenly realized.  
"What do you want to do? Interrogate him? He's dead!"  
"We still have the Life Knife…" Ianto said without thinking, and he still didn't get what his words had started when he looked up at Jack, but Gwen had already ran into Jack's office.  
"You know we can't use that, Gwen," Jack said as he stood in her way. "You know why."  
"The blade is connected to the gloves, yes?" Gwen said, deducing logically how the events of last time's resurrection had taught her how these gadgets worked.  
"Without the gloves the blade's useless." Jack insisted, but Gwen wouldn't give in.  
She demanded access to his supernatural safe.  
"There's a chance we could tap into Owen's energy, use that to power the blade! We could resurrect him! Sixy seconds tops!"  
Jack was outraged. "We are not going to resurrect another soul! Not after what happened last time! Who knows what's going to happen next! You know the risks!"  
Gwen knew he was right.  
She started pacing, clutching her throbbing head.  
She could still taste the coffee in her mouth that had burned her lips and tongue.  
" Jack," she spoke intentionally slowly and calmly, emphasizing her words with her hands to build up her logical argument. "Lumic knows we're after him. He knows if he knows we drugged him. He knows, and we're not going to find him or find Abigail. He's going to kill her Jack!"  
"You don't know that." Jack replied.  
"Exactly," Gwen said, "we don't know anything. But HE KNOWS."  
Jack was thinking.  
Ianto stood in the doorway, ready to jump in if he had to.  
"He was his nephew, Jack." Gwen said. "I don't think his death was an accident. That wasn't any bar fight he got in. They had guns, Jack. They shot him for a reason, and I bet because he knew too much. You're saying he was involved in making the Cybermen, down in that other reality of sorts? We've got to wake him up, Jack. We've got to ask him."  
"Who? Joe, or Owen?" Jack asked.  
Gwen would've replied straight away, but chose not to.  
She chose to remain perfectly still and quiet, whilst awaiting Jack's verdict.  
His blue eyes gazed intently into hers, before they faded into a proud smile.  
"You're good, you know that?" he said.  
Gwen was amused, but she couldn't smile.  
"So, are we doing it?" she asked, becoming ever more frightened now the prospect of raising the dead actually was an option.  
She hadn't expected Jack to give in.  
"Oh, we're doing it."


	53. Chapter 53

Jack opened his safe and entered his pass word and ten digit access code into the security system with a cautious glance over his shoulder.  
Ianto would prepare the Autopsy Room for the procedure as Gwen retrieved all information she could gather about the Resurrection Glove, its use, the Life Knife and Joseph Harvey Millton.  
She brought up the files in her computer, but glanced at them only once.  
Jack retrieved from his safe after a momentary shudder a small glass box which he delicately set down upon his desk.  
He quickly closed the safe back up and shut it down, and when he turned around he looked down upon the alien artifact that had taken life by Suzie Costello's hands, and then one time, brought it back.  
If it would work again today was another thing altogether.  
The knife, made out of the same metal as the Gloves, seemed to be waiting inside the glass box, begging to be taken out.  
There seemed to be a sort of rust that had developed on the knife's blade; the price of blood and death, but for what other purpose had the knife been built?  
Jack knew it wasn't to be underestimated, this alien power, this connection to a dimension he feared most of all.

Gwen had been down in the Autopsy Room by Owen's side,and when she climbed back up the stairs Ianto barred her way intentionally, gripping the railing and the wall with two hands.  
"Do you know what you are doing?" he asked. "I won't ask it again, but I just need to know."  
"Know what?" Jack asked, and Ianto turned to see him carrying the _Life Knife_ in his hands.  
"There's a risk." Ianto said.  
"There's always a risk." Jack said.  
Jack stopped Ianto short before he could say more.  
"No, I'm sorry, but Gwen's right." he said. "We're out of options."  
"Will it work without the Glove?" Ianto asked.  
"We never tried, did we?" Jack replied. "Suzie had her own experiments, but she never told us."  
"And look where that got her." Ianto replied.  
Gwen looked away.  
Jack ignored his last comment and walked down into the Autopsy Room, where Gwen quickly joined him.  
"We might have a problem, Jack." she said, but Jack still had his back turned to her.  
"There's two people in there!" Gwen said, pointing at the body. "Not just one! If this works, if we use it, who will we be bringing back?"  
"We're about to find out," Jack said. "If it works anyway. If it doesn't…"  
He hesitated and smiled at Gwen.  
"Well, then I'll just be stabbing a corpse."

Jack looked up and saw Ianto leaving.  
"Where'd you think you're going?"  
Ianto turned with a mysterious grin. "Getting reinforcements."  
Gwen turned to Jack, who was still holding the knife in his hands.  
He put it down and they both ran up the stairs after Ianto, to find out what he meant.  
Jack's lips curled into the start of an inaudible question, he frowned seeing the monitor on Gwen's desk show the view of the CCTV cameras of the Roald Dahl Plass above them.  
Alarms were going off and mechanics started rattling as the gigantic lift above them started coming down, carrying down with it a woman in a sleek, black leather jacket.  
Jack looked over at Ianto and saw him smirking proudly. He knew she was coming today.  
He always remembered the things Jack forgot.  
"Martha Jones. Voice of a nightingale."  
Martha would've blushed if she wasn't so tired.  
You've always had perfect timing."  
"Did I?" she smiled, and she hugged Gwen.  
"Where is he?" Martha asked.  
"It's complicated." Jack said.  
Martha found her own way into the Autopsy Room and when she looked down her excitement faded.  
"You're kidding me," she said. "I've flown all the way from New York!"  
But then she noticed the knife in his hands and started piecing together what was about to happen.  
"You have an obsession." Martha said to Jack. "Stop bringing back the dead!"  
"No," Gwen said. "It's not like that. He sort of found his own way back. Like Jack said, it's…"  
"Complicated." Martha said, ogling Jack.  
"Very." Ianto added in the back.

She had flown all across the Atlantic, from New York to Cardiff, in two days; when she heard the news of Owen's return she jumped straight on the first jet plane to England, without caring for all the work she was leaving behind, unfinished.  
"Does UNIT know you're here?" Jack asked.  
"I'm in an unofficial capacity." Martha replied.  
"Meaning?"  
"I took the day off." Martha said.  
Jack laughed.  
Martha went straight down to business.  
"I don't know what you're doing, Jack. But I know UNIT would disapprove."  
"Do _you_ disapprove?" Jack asked.  
Martha sighed.

Ianto whizzed the scanner across Joseph's chest again, scanning the malignant energy inside it.  
The readings were still the same.  
Gwen looked down into the Autopsy Room, silently, and she was slightly startled when Martha suddenly spoke to her.  
She hadn't noticed she had been standing behind her.  
"How long has he been like that?" she asked.  
Gwen thought about it for a second, remembering how she left him there in the park and how she later found him in the morgue, deathly still, without a heart.  
"At least 9 hours." Gwen said. "And we have no idea why."  
She noticed she had been biting her own nails for some time now. She quickly hid her hand to hide that fact from Martha, but that only made her notice it too.  
"I'm sorry," Martha said. "It must've been hard losing him the first time, then again, and now this…  
"I can't imagine what it must feel like."  
Martha looked at Gwen, watching her throw her a big, grateful smile, but inside she knew she was suffering.  
"But it's him." She then said. "It's really him. Not some alien, or echo, or impostor, or whatever. It's him. You found him."  
"That only makes it worse." Gwen said.  
For a moment she lost herself down into that room where Joseph Milton's body lay.  
She wondered what Abigail would do if she saw him right now, dead all over again, would she cry, break down, kill herself?  
No, she couldn't think like that, and she never had before. Gwen had no idea where all these dark thoughts were coming from.  
She pushed him aside and thought of better, happier, thoughts, and the man who was waiting for her back home.  
She turned to Martha with another smile and a tear.  
"I'm driving Rhys off the edge…" she said.  
"No…" Martha said, comforting her.  
"He's being so kind and supportive, and I just keep pushing him away…and I keep telling myself it's this job…this fucking job...and for him…"  
She pointed at the corpse down in the Autopsy Room, who Ianto was still scanning and hooking up to scanners.  
"I hate him, the twat…I've hated him for such a long time…and Rhys, oh bloody hell, he's going to hate me too."  
"He won't hate you," Martha said.  
"Yes, he will."  
He won't!" Martha smiled. "Listen, I work for UNIT 24/7, on the other side of the world and my fiancée still loves me. I'm wearing his ring and he wears mine, and I hardly ever see him."  
Martha showed Gwen her ring and Gwen lightened up. She immediately showed Martha hers.  
"He's probably just back from Africa right now and he doesn't even know I'm here." Martha said, sounding more and more down with each word.  
"Call him." Jack suddenly said and they turned their heads. "He'd want you to."  
Martha took a deep breath and nodded.  
"So girls," Jack said. "Are you ready?"  
Jack turned to Martha.  
"Last chance to stop me."  
"I trust you, Jack." she said. "Just be sure you know what you're doing."  
Ianto left the Autopsy Room and joined them in the Main Hub, crossing glances with Jack when he heard Martha's answer.  
"But if things do go wrong, I'll have to intervene." she added.  
Jack kissed her on the cheek.  
"If things go wrong, I'll let you."

Under Martha's supervision they started the procedure.  
She was uncomfortable around the corpse, trying to picture him as Owen as she knew him not that long ago, but the image wouldn't stick in her head.  
She had seen too many corpses in her days as a doctor, too many heartbeats stop, too many eyes turn soft.  
But she had only seen one resurrection.  
Ianto kept ogling Jack, remembering all those times they spent chasing murder victims in cold, filthy alleyways, kneeling down by their bodies and listen to them gasp for an unexpected breath of fresh air that wasn't supposed to come, as Suzie brought them back from the dark.  
And all of them knew, they felt it as they groped the bloodstained asphalt with no body to move, no fingers to lift that weren't dead as they screamed in blind panic at the cold grip around their skulls, all of them knew that this was wrong.  
Jack held the knife in his hands and gave Martha one last look.  
When she nodded, Gwen gripped the table, Ianto his stopwatch and Jack the knife.  
Joseph's non-vital signs were visible on the screens above their heads, an inaudible flat line, like a cross-section of a pond's watery surface that was about to be disturbed.  
Gwen had forgotten by now who they were supposed to be resurrecting, and all she hoped for was for this pale corpse to awaken and live.  
Ianto was sure he had forgotten something important when he watched Jack raise the knife into the air, and then he started counting down.  
"One." he said.  
Ianto swallowed.  
Martha took a deep breath.  
"Two."  
Gwen wordlessly revealed her panic to Jack through eye-contact only.  
Ianto's thumb was hovering above the stopwatch's buttons.  
Joseph's battleworn bare chest lay out in front of them, awaiting the attack of life.  
His wrists were scratched red, his chest cut and stitched up around his heart, and another tiny hole had been sealed up where a bullet had once hit him.  
Only then did Gwen notice the dent in his forehead, a round, flat place where something hard must've hit him, but before she could say or think, Jack's sudden cry paralyzed her on the spot.  
She wanted to grab Owen's hand, only she realized it was Joseph's.  
"THREE!"

But there was no spark of electricity, no sudden gasp for air.  
The body lay lifeless, motionless, but for a momentary shudder when the knife forcefully sliced through its lungs and collided with the table beneath it.  
Gwen stopped breathing and quickly glanced up at the monitors, but there was no change.  
Martha turned to Jack who gazed down at the knife, breathing heavily, but his excitement faded before it had started.  
Ianto lowered the stopwatch.  
Nothing had happened.


	54. Chapter 54

A warm vacuum lingered underneath the sheets where he was lying, but even that incredible softness of love and luxury could not keep him contained.  
Mickey felt uneasy, soiled and sinful. He wouldn't even touch the sheets he had slept under for one second longer.  
He stepped shirtless into the morning light, turning his back on the woman he had just spent the night with.  
"Yeah, sure," Mickey muttered to himself, as he scoured the floor for the rest of his clothing."You want me. You invite me over. You sweet talk your way into my pants, but I know what you really want…"  
"Are you leaving?" Valerie groaned, stretching her body underneath the stopped and turned to see her squint her eyes in the morning light, the rest of her naked body covered by the sheets."You're right. I'm probably late for work as it is. What day is it today?"  
"Tuesday," Mickey answered.  
"Were you talking just now?"  
Mickey looked away, slightly embarrassed. "No."  
His shirt had to be there the mirror he could see his own muscular silhouette and the scar that had been paining him since the day he got still stung when he touched it, which he couldn't stop himself from doing every time he saw it in the mirror. Valerie checked her alarm clock. It was still early and she could be at the police station within the hour.  
"You were savage last night." she said. "I quite liked it. You're full of anger, aren't you?"  
"Yeah," Mickey said, trying to sound cool, but he still felt way too embarrassed to live up to the lie.  
He found his little police-radio by the side of the bed and he picked it up into his hands."You don't need that anymore now you're sleeping with me." Valerie spoke.  
"Why are you sleeping with me?" Mickey said looking straight at her.  
"Because I'm lonely," Valerie said. "I really am. And there's something innocent about you, underneath that rugged beard. It's cute."  
Mickey didn't want to be cute."I know why you're sleeping with me," he said and Valerie raised her eyebrows."It's Jack, isn't it?"  
"Oh, don't be like that." Valerie said, leaning forward, letting the morning sun touch her naked back."We had fun, didn't we? We could have fun again."  
"Not today," Mickey found his shirt and he quickly pulled it over his head. His pants and socks weren't far behind.  
"At least tell me about Jack. Who is he?"  
Her tone had changed. The playful tease had dropped the act and turned serious, although the twinkle never left her eyes.  
Mickey hesitated; he knew she was a powerful woman, both in rank and fury, and she was not too be underestimated.  
"Sure, why not?"Mickey said. "We both knew what we're getting into. It was more like a trade then anything, so why not hand in my end of the deal? Yes, I know Jack. Or at least I thought I did."  
He bowed his head and smiled, realizing his own stupidity. "Turns out I didn't know anything."  
"Then what do you know?" Valerie asked impatient. "Jack and his Special Ops! They think they are so smart and clever and so superior than us, but I've seen the metal men in the streets! I've seen the Daleks in the skies, the Toclafane, the man-sized bats that attack the people in the streets, the Weevils that slaughtered all the senior officers, the monks that roam the streets at night. Strange clouds that light up and disappear, airplanes that land without passengers, a monster the size of a skyscraper that kills people with its shadow! And every time Jack and his team simply barge into the scene and expect me to carry on without asking a single question! But I know what's going on! I know what's out there!"  
"You're wrong," Mickey said. "It's not out there. It's right here. It's been here forever, but we've been too stupid to see it."  
"See what?" Valerie asked.  
Mickey sighed, looking up at Valerie knowing he had said too much. Now he had to give her more.  
"We're not alone." Mickey said, knowing it was all he needed to say.

* * *

The Autopsy Room was host to a lingering echo that faded away in solitary abandonment, in the wake of passing soles.  
Not even a breath lingered in the brooding silence, where only the remnant Joseph Milton was left behind.  
There were days when the whole Hub would be this an ancient tomb, buried within the sands of Egypt, waiting to be found, waiting to live in those times there would be only Jack, strutting down his dark home underneath the city.  
There were no clocks in the Hub, no way to tell time besides the intended devices the people themselves would bring down with them into the ground. They'd step into that lift and be taken away, down into the depths of the dark Hub, with its many tunnels, chambers and there would be only Jack, to stand guard, to take care of this old lighthouse when everyone else would forget about it.  
Ianto would be the only one who'd know how much it meant to Jack to keep his baby place alive; the place he's been calling home for more than a hundred years. The place where he worked, the only constant in his life, compared to the ever-changing world above it.  
And it would change, everything was going to change, which for a time-travelling agent born in the future, meant trouble.

They'd all gathered in the conference-room, because Jack figured they could use a change of scenery. Gwen felt like pacing up and down, but at the same time she was dead tired. She gazed down at the centre of the table, attentively listening to what Jack said, then when she felt it was necessary she would pitch in."The first Glove drained energy from me," she stated, remembering in full the events of almost two years ago, when they resurrected Suzie. She hoped to God never to feel that pain again. She struggled to continue her strain of thought, thinking of Owen fighting Death in the hospital."The second drained energy from Death..."

"But only after the first sixty seconds," Ianto added.  
The knife lay in front of them on the long table.  
Jack sat at the head of the table and Ianto and Gwen to his left and right.  
Martha sat next to Ianto, watching Gwen, before keenly listening to Jack as he spoke of the Gloves.  
"After that the Gloves feed off external energy sources to keep the body going." Ianto said.  
"Then what powers the first sixty seconds?" Martha asked.  
"Residual life force from the body itself." Jack answered. "But when that's gone, it's game over."  
Martha remembered asking Owen about the afterlife and seeing the distraught look in his eyes.  
"There's nothing," he'd said.  
It terrified her.  
As a doctor she dealt with patients, struggling to keep them alive, but in death her expertise ended.  
There was nothing she could do.  
"The first Glove fed on life. It had a direct connection to Gwen, feeding off her to redirect it into the empty receptacle."  
"A corpse," Ianto interrupted."  
"…but the second Glove, it fed off death, and _he_, he was a little bit harder to reach. And that's where the knife comes in."  
Jack looked around the table.  
"We thought it was an amplifier, but we were so wrong."  
Ianto looked down upon the four-bladed knife in front of him with a peculiar interest.  
"It's a conductor, a lightning rod to attract Death!"  
He sighed.  
"And without the Glove it's useless." he added.  
Gwen closed her eyes.  
"But then how do we bring him back?" Martha asked, and Jack looked right into her eyes without letting go.  
"We don't." he said. "We burn it."  
Gwen couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're serious?"  
Ianto did not look at anyone.  
"If he can't wake up, we have to set him free." Jack explained. "We have to destroy the body so he can move to another host!. Owen can't switch bodies if this one's still intact!"  
"How'd you know the fire won't consume the energy as well?" Martha asked.  
"I don't know! If it survived nuclear radiation, it'll survive this!"  
They all looked away.  
"Do you have any better ideas?" Jack said.  
They didn't answer.  
"What do we do about Abigail?" Ianto asked, changing the subject.  
Jack took a deep breath.

* * *

The Minister of Defence was not answering any calls today.  
He stood in his study, hands dug deep in his body, looking at the contents of his bookcase.  
It had been a while since he had the time and chance to read from his personal collection, which he had been proudly stalling in this bookcase for such a long time, intimidating his visitors with his intelligence.  
Of course, he hadn't read them all.  
The sound of her tapping heels echoed through the hall, foreshadowing his secretary's arrival.  
He adjusted his glasses to prepare for when the door would open.  
"Sir?" she asked, and he smiled as she entered the doorway, knocking politely upon the open door.  
"Melissa," he said, stroking his short, grey beard. "is something wrong?"  
"No, sir," she answered, cradling a thick file under her arm. "I've only brought you the files you requested this morning."  
"Ah," the Minister said proudly. "There's a good girl."  
He rubbed his hands together before she handed him the file, which he immediately started looking through.  
"As you can see I've added all files on Cybus Indu- I mean Shelby Industries as well."  
The Minister chuckled. "Yes, you're not the only one bothered by that name-change. Every year there's one, some strange product rebranding, or change in advertisement strategy. It's worse when said companies go through mergers. Their names never…"  
Then he stopped as his eyes wandered across a sentence in the file.  
He read it again to fully let the fact sink into his mind, and Melissa waited patiently for his reaction.  
A phone started ringing at Melissa's desk, but before she could even think about turning around to answer it, the Minister snapped the file shut.  
"Put them on hold, whoever it is. They can wait." he spoke. "Get me Paul Roberts on the phone. Now."

His wife had been disappointed once again that work had returned to be his priority the day of their anniversary, but the Minister did stress the utmost importance of the many calls he had made this morning.  
He swallowed, realizing the words he had spoken in his mind: their marriage would have to wait.  
He hated himself for picking up that phone and letting his wife walk away angrily, but he had to do it.  
The phone was ringing on the other end. The Minister picked up his glasses and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.  
"Yes, Alistair," he spoke when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "Yes. Have you spoken to Paul yet? Have you seen the figures? Terrible, terrible. I can't go to the Prime Minister with this. Arrange me a meeting with Mr. Stokes at Shelby Industries now and I don't care if he's busy. We're all busy. We're in a recession nonetheless!"

The Minister, accompanied by Paul Roberts and his personal assistant stepped into his car and were driven to Shelby Industries Headquarters in Cardiff.  
The drive was long and tormented by heavy winds, but when they finally arrived the clouds had passed and a white, clear sky welcomed them into Wales.  
Heads turned when the Minister stepped out of his car.  
His arrival was not expected, nor was there any media to cover it.  
Assistants of assistants came to shake his hand and escort him into the structure's main hall.  
It was a large, cold building, mainly built out of glass, with huge windows and huge glass columns of either side of the entrance.  
Carved into the columns seemed to be two angels facing each other, like the entrance to heaven.  
And then they climbed a a flight of wide stairs that lead to reception, and a wide open view into the building's work areas, where call centres and administrative duties were being attended by workers.  
The entire building was almost see-through, up to the point in which the Minister could look through the building and see the big Porsches and BMW's that were parked around the back.  
It seemed to give the impression they had absolutely nothing to hide, but the Minister knew this to be a subtle, yet elaborate illusion.

"Please, come this way, Minister," the assistant of an assistant spoke. "I'm sorry, but you caught us a little bit off-guard today. We didn't know that you were coming."  
"Hardly," the Minister said. "Now where is Mr. Stokes?"  
Mr. Stokes appeared to be the greatest sycophant this world had ever seen.  
He shook the Minister's hand intensely and his smile literally would've reached both ears if his cheeks hadn't been in the way.  
The Minister could see he was sweating and that made him feel much better.  
"Welcome, Minister," Mr. Charlie Stokes spoke. "Welcome. Can I get you something to drink?"  
"I'm fine, thank you, but maybe my assistant would like something while he waits in the hall. Where is your office? I want to speak in private."  
"Of course. This way, please."  
He seemed quite young to be the executive of his own company, but the Minister wasn't prepared to underestimate him just yet.  
He was in his mid-thirties he reckoned, and his hair was slightly receding, and he had probably gained some slight weight, but other than that he seemed in fit condition.  
The Minister tried to picture Stokes as himself at that age, but couldn't.  
He seemed more like a used car-salesman than anything.  
He and his entourage lead the Minister and his entourage to the elevator which carried them to the 26th floor.  
"Please," Charlie said as they entered his office and he pointed to the chairs in front of his desk.  
The Minister graciously sat down, but Mr. Roberts remained standing.  
The Minister raised one eyebrow at the man; he found his behaviour unnerving, especially for a corporate executive.  
"Minister," Charlie spoke. "Your call sounded rather urgent. Your request to meet me in person struck quite a nerve, I must say. I'm fearing the worst."  
"No, you're not," the Minister said. "You don't care what I have to say. You're just like every other corporate executive, smiling inanely into camera after camera, shaking hands until they practically fall off, but other then that you don't do a damn thing."  
His cold, steel eyes pierced straight into Charlie's mind.  
"You'll just smile and agree to everything I say, nod like an idiot and then laugh when my back is turned. No, I won't have that. And especially not today."  
"Yes, I gathered. "Charlie Stokes said, and drops of sweat were glinting on his forehead. "Happy anniversary."  
"Thank you," the Minister said. "Now if you won't mind, I want you to have a look at these files and tell me what you see."  
Mr. Roberts lay down the mauve folders on Mr. Stokes desk for him to read.  
Charlie revealed his reading glasses when he snatched the files from the desk, ignoring the Minister's unflinching gaze.  
The Minister waited patiently until he had read it and the silence only made Charlie more nervous.  
He looked up at the security camera before pressing a button on his desk.  
"I need Frank." he spoke and right after he spoke the door opened and a man stepped through his office.  
"Take a look at this," he said to him.  
"Don't pretend you haven't seen this before." the Minister spoke without even looking up.  
The two men quickly exchanged glances and thoughts before addressing the Minister again.  
"I'm sorry, Minister," Charlie said. "For the first time in my life I am lost for words. I don't know what to say. I am deeply, deeply ashamed."  
"As you should be." the Minister said, and Mr. Roberts took back the files.  
"My heart skipped a beat when I read that file, and for an old man such as myself you can understand how dangerous that is. You have been irresponsible, Mr. Stokes, and I thought your company to be better than that."  
"But we are." Mr. Stokes interrupted.  
"No excuses, Mr. Stokes." the Minister went on, and he stood up from his leather seat. "Your company made a promise, and you broke it. All that money that's being poured into this place is going right down the drain, and we have no use for that in times like these. If this rate of decline will continue I will shut this company down, Mr. Stokes. Without hesitation, I might add. Your funding stops here and that'll be the end of _Shelby Industries._"  
The Minister uttered the new company name with as much disdain and mockery as he could muster.  
"But, sir," Charlie spoke, half humble, half arrogant, "We are the country's foremost cybernetics manufacturer. We have the world's leading men working this very moment on inventions that could change the face of this world forever. We have hospitals that count on our technology to save lives. The entertainment industry…"  
"Yes, I know," the Minister said. "You're big. You're bigger than big. But ever since the government has been funding your little financial breakdown I had the chance to take a look at your expenses, and frankly enough I am surprised this company hasn't gone bust long ago. No, this company is a black, bottomless pit of cash and if it weren't for the media I'd have you all shut down by tomorrow. We cannot afford to be weak in times like these."

"Quite right," a voice suddenly said.

A man in a sophisticated wheelchair drove himself into Mr. Stokes office.  
His voice had an air of intellectual aristocracy about it, like the last of a long line of forgotten Shakespearian actors longing for a stage, but not an audience.  
To the back of his wheelchair several life-supporting machines had been attached, one of which was directly supplying its owner with oxygen through a mask he held to his face.  
His face was drained of colour and there were dark bags under his eyes.  
"Mr. Lumic," the Minister said. "I thought you had long since retired…"  
To be honest, the Minister was surprised he was still alive.  
But Lumic did not waste time on small talk.  
"Restrain them," he said through the mask.  
The Minister was baffled by his words, and more so when armed men came bursting into the room.  
"What are you doing? Are you mad, Lumic?" the Minister cried as his arms were forced to hold on to the back of his head. "Don't you know who I am?"  
"Yes," Lumic said. "You are no-one."  
He drove his wheelchair into the centre of the room and turned to face his two prisoners.  
"You cannot stop us, Minister." he spoke. "You cannot stop progress."  
A man in a white doctor's coat entered the office; in his left hand he held a small, silver suitcase, and in the other he held a syringe.  
"What are you up to, Lumic?" Charlie asked.  
The Minister looked up.  
Mr. Roberts glanced at the Minister, then at the doctor and then back again in terror.  
Without a word the doctor inserted the syringe into the back of Mr. Roberts neck and released the contents of it into the bloodstream.  
"What are you doing?!" the Minister screamed when he saw the man fall down to the ground, twitching, kicking, screaming and clutching his brain.  
Lumic looked down with a mixed feeling of interest and a superior air of indifference to their fate.  
Whenever he spoke he would take off his mask, but when he would finish he'd quickly gasp for air again, like his life depended on it.  
Every time it seemed like he was slipping away.  
"A hundred years of work… finally brought to perfection." Lumic said.  
"What's happening to him?" the Minister cried.  
Lumic nodded to the doctor and he moved in the Minister's way, stabbing him promptly in the neck without a second glance.  
It had been done.  
The Minister did not cry when he felt the syringe pierce the back of his neck, nor did he scream when he fell to the floor.  
He closed his eyes and endured the pain, clinging on to his memories for dear life, but to no avail.

Charlie gasped for breath. "Look at what's happening," he cried out. "We have the Minister of Defence under our control! We could have them do whatever we want! Can't you see the possibilities that we are presented with here? The dangers?"  
Lumic turned away. "Your ignorance does not amuse me. He has now been dealt with. Just don't let him interfere with our business any longer. Our plans must go forward!"  
"If the Board finds out what we've done here," Charlie said. "they'll fire me. They fired you!"  
"The Board does not concern me," Lumic spoke coldly. "I will be immortal. The Board will not."  
"But, sir…"  
Lumic glared at Stokes intensely as his breathing grew heavier and more painful with each gasp.  
"We have come too far to fail now." he said. "If you won't follow the plan, I will have to find someone else who will."  
Charlie glanced at the doctor and his suitcase.  
He remained silent from then on.  
"A wise move, Charles." Lumic said, before he drove out of the office, back to bed.  


* * *

Rhys Williams sat on the end of his bed, struggling to put on his shoes.  
The blinds were shut and he sat in darkness, cursing that one shoelace was longer than the other one.  
In a fit he flung the shoe across the room, until it bounced off a mirror and under the bed.  
He stood up and started pacing, knowing fully well why he was so angry at his shoe.  
He couldn't stop thinking of last night.  
Everything his wife had to do in the line of duty, and everything she would have to do to save the world.  
But it wasn't that.  
Rhys took deep breath after deep breath to calm down, letting the doorway carry his weight as he leaned on it.  
He took hold of his mouth, realizing what was bothering him, and he knew that he couldn't help it.  
"Stop it." he said to himself. "I've got to get to work."  
His phone had slipped out of his pocket and had fallen on to the bed.  
He picked it up and looked at it for a second, at the still background photo of Gwen and him laughing, almost waiting for it to start ringing.  
Instead he flipped it into his pants pocket, he grabbed his shoe and put it on, grabbed his keys from the kitchen table and took his coat with him outside.

He rushed for he was running late. Skipping red lights in empty streets and bending traffic laws by a very moderate margin.  
"Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks." he uttered over and over again when frantically looking from mirror to mirror, from corner to corner and back again on the way to his work.  
The morning sun blinded him.  
And of course his own thoughts kept haunting his head like a snake eating its own tail, a suicidal, explosive paradox that only agitated his road rage.  
"Fecking bastard!" he shouted at a passing motorcyclist from inside his tiny, metal speeding box, and he hit the steering wheel.  
Catching his own eyes in the rear view mirror the snake started spinning all over again.  
It wasn't what Gwen was doing that bothered him, he had listened to her stories ever since he found out. He had witnessed their action firsthand plenty of times.  
His shoulder still ached where the bullet had hit him that day.  
It wasn't what Gwen was doing, it's who she was doing it for.  
Jack hadn't bothered him ever since he found out he was being intimate with Ianto. That was a pleasant shock.  
But Owen….  
He gripped the steering wheel again and tried hard to calm himself down.  
Suddenly a bolt of lightning surged through the sky vertically hitting the ground with a flash.  
But the sky where it happened was completely clear of clouds.  
Rhys was confused by the impossible lightning bolt, but immediately shook it off.  
It's the Torchwood Syndrome all over again.  
"Not everything's aliens..." he reassured himself. "It's just a freak lightning storm. A cut power cable. A disturbance at the power plant. Something."  
Still his eyes wandered to his dashboard where his phone was staring back at him.


	55. Chapter 55

* * *

The air grew tense.  
Everyone who walked up to their cars got zapped before they could open their doors.  
They cradled their hurt fingers and move on like nothing had happened, but all the while the tension was building up around them.  
Freak lightning surges occurred more frequently and in every corner of the city the wind started blowing in one single direction, towards the Bay.

The night before lightning had struck a house like silent death, flashing the sky with bright intensity, burning the air in its wake and short-circuiting every electrical appliance in the house. Every alarm and digital clock had reset, blinking at 0:00 and continuing from that time onwards.  
It was a quiet morning that day, for the neighbour had taken his loud dog out to his mum's that day, so the family hadn't been awoken.  
Sadly enough, because of the reset alarm clocks nothing and no-one would wake them up until their little 4-year old daughter stumbled out of bed and caught the wrong shadow in the hallway.  
She wasn t fully awake yet, so when she turned that corner she was expecting to see her mother smile back at her, but it wasn t her.  
Panicking, she ran into her parent s bedroom and tug and pulled and cried until they would finally listen.  
"Mommy, mommy!" the little girl cried. "Mommy, I m scared!" Startled and confused, the woman took her daughter by her hand and looked at her husband to see if he was awake.  
"Sam?" she asked.  
Without glasses he couldn 't see properly, so he rubbed his eyes and nodded.  
"What s the matter, Daisy?" she asked her daughter, and quickly the little girl put her arms around her and held on tight to her mother.  
"There!" the little girl cried, shaking and pointing into the hallway, before quickly burying her head into her mother's side again.  
"Calm down!" her mother said to her, before glancing at her husband again who turned over to sleep on his other shoulder. There's probably nothing to be afraid of. Go on then, I'll have a look, but I m not going in without you. Take my hand. The little girl grabbed her mother's hand and didn't let go.  
"It's a monster!" she said and her mother calmly shushed her.  
"There's no such thing as-" Then she saw something in the hallway, creeping across the floor like a shadow, like liquid shadow, like oozing oil, slowly seeping towards them.  
She immediately told her daughter to stay in the room, wrestling with her to release the little girl's grip on her hand.  
She followed her mother into the corridor despite her warnings.  
And then she heard her scream.  
"Sam!SAAAAAAAMMMM!!" Her husband Sam immediately awoke from his sleep; he struggled to find his glasses on the cabinet beside the bed and he jumped into the hallway to protect his family from danger.  
"Jesus Christ," he cried out as he looked upon the thing seemingly lodged inside the wall.  
He covered his daughter's eyes.  
There was a man halfway stuck in the wall, wearing a monk's robes and hood.  
His front stuck out into the hallway, his back was stuck in kitchen cabinets.  
His dead hands were tightly gripping an oversized scythe as his body and robes, skin, hairs and fabric, was all starting to disintegrate into muck, oozing, dripping on to the floor and kitchen sink into a black, oily substance that reeked of death.

* * *

"You can come out now, little girl," Crane said as he opened the door to her cell. "There s someone here who s been dying to meet you. Come on."  
But Abigail didn t move, nor had she been able to get some sleep the last hours she had spent in here; just another cell, another room in a sequence of rooms, and they all had bars in front of the windows.  
"Come on, kid, "Crane tried. "It doesn't kill you to come out. Look, I'm not gonna bite ya."  
He gave up. "Oh, to hell with her. You try. Maybe she'll listen to you."  
Abigail glanced once at the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever they would send in to convince her to give in to their sick plans.  
But she refused to let them distort the truth.  
She sighed.  
They hadn't harmed her, or laid a hand on her, Crane and his men had all been more than nice to her and helpful as they escorted her to Lumic's place.  
But she could see it in their eyes, she was like a lamb, brought in front of wolves, and there was only one thing keeping her alive, as it had done for the past three weeks, just one thing.  
"I'm not coming," she said to the ceiling. If they had shut that door again, and turned off all lights, she wouldn't have cared.  
She would've turned over and curled up into a ball and slowly faded away herself into the darkness, like a sandcastle in a sandstorm.  
Whenever she closed her eyes she imagined it happening, or she dreamed of running though forests and churches and empty streets, trying to prevent Death from taking her lost love.  
Abigail had already tested Crane s patience, because she tried to escape when they first took her away in the armoured truck.  
She threw herself from the back and started running, and all she could remember was the darkness blurring around her and the rush as men started running after her through the messy dark.  
She ran across the field in the middle of the stormy night, through the heavy rains and as the kidnappers caught up with her she dialled the first number on her list and threw her phone as far away as she could into the night.  
She smiled at seeing their discomfort, their disappointment, their wet clothing and grizzled faces.  
She laughed at them as they lied to her, telling her they were going to help her, take care of her and make everything right again.  
Dear uncle Lumic would make everything better!  
They lied, they all lied, everyone but him, whoever he was, whatever he was, the man that took her hand and saved her from the evil night.  
The Spark? The Spark? What is the Spark?  
In her mind when all the lights would go out and everything'd go dark, the black stain on the ceiling above her would do the opposite and would instantly light up, like a star, like a distant explosion, growing bigger and bigger like a spreading fire, until everything caught fire and everything burned.  
The Spark. the Spark...  
"Abigail?" Ben spoke.

* * *

His duties were piling up, yet Ianto Jones stood at the heart of the Hub with both hands etched into his sides.  
Gwen, he knew, looked terrible, running on nothing but adrenaline as she shouted at Jack to get things done, but all she ever did was kept him from trying to work things out.  
He reminded himself to run past the shops later and get them all some food, before they'd all pass out due to stress.  
In fact, he remembered he had some extra supplies hidden in a refrigerator somewhere, some sandwiches, some leftover Chinese food or mouldy pizza, anything that could boost their morale that didn't have caffeine in it.  
They were full of that.  
"You'd better come and see this," Martha said, as she rushed into Jack's office, interrupting Gwen's conversation.  
They both immediately followed her to Gwen's desk, where the monitor was tuned in to catch the latest news.  
"Great, we're getting our news from _daily news dot com_ nowadays?" Jack complained.  
"Just listen," Martha said and she turned up the volume.  
The video loaded quickly, but the quality was terrible and it worsened when Martha set it to widescreen.  
"This happened just now?" Gwen asked.  
Martha nodded.  
A voice commented on the images they were seeing: _"The Minister paid a rather surprise visit to Shelby Industries Corporate Headquarters today to talk to CEO Charles Stokes about adding more government support to the already massive funding it has received last week."_  
The Minister of Defence was seen shaking hands with Mr. Stokes and smiling to the cameras before he hurriedly returned to his car, alongside his assistant.  
"What's the Minister of Defence doing at Shelby Industries?" Jack asked and Gwen rushed to the other computer to find out.  
"You don't think he knows, do you?" Martha asked Jack.  
"If he'd know," Jack answered. "We'd know."  
Ianto returned up the flight of stairs carrying a full plate of sandwiches like a waiter in a restaurant.  
"Thank you," Jack said, reaching for two with one hand. "I'm starving."  
"You'll live." Martha quipped, before adding to Ianto: "Sure, I'll have one."  
"Are these the ones we bought two days ago?" Jack asked with his mouth full.  
"Yes, they are." Ianto said, as he intently placed the plate on the desk next to Gwen.  
She barely noticed.  
"You can tell," Jack said.  
Gwen had activated the Torchwood software and found what she was looking for.  
"The Ministry of Defence is funding Shelby Industries to develop a new top secret project. It apparently involves new technology for in hospitals."  
" Where's the money being sent to? The government funds?" Jack asked.  
"I'll check." Gwen s eyes skimmed the pages in search for the data and her fingers rattled the keyboard.  
Still that hollow feeling in her stomach wouldn't go away.  
Only then did she notice the sandwiches, which Jack had already been stuffing down his mouth, but they would have to wait.  
"Three different accounts at three separate banks." Gwen finally answered.  
"It's fishy," Jack said. "It's fishy and it s wrong. Get me a full-sized HD copy of that video and play it again. There's something we're missing and I don't think I'm going to like it."  
Martha had seen the same footage Jack had seen, but didn t protest when he asked to see it again.  
"What are you expecting to see?" she asked him when Gwen found the footage.  
She played it and again they saw the elderly Minister of Defence happily shake hands with Shelby's CEO.  
"How 'bout a puncture mark in the back of the neck?" Jack said, pointing at the screen and Gwen paused the footage.  
"There." he said and he turned to his team. "Picture a needle and a cute doctor with a perm stabbing the Minister of Defence in the back of the neck. Doesn't take much to brainwash someone with the right technology. Thing is, not a lot of people can say they can spot such a mark from a short distance in a blurry video, but luckily I can. "  
That s plastic surgery for you, Ianto said.  
"Hey!" Jack cried, turning to Ianto with a smile and a wink.  
"Right, "Martha said. "I'm calling UNIT." But at that exact moment a different phone rang, and to Jack's surprise it was coming from his own pocket.

* * *

"Abigail?" The tall man moved through the darkness, nothing but a handsome silhouette to Abigail's eyes.  
"Are you all right?" he asked, before kneeling down by her bed.  
His hands felt rough, like leather, hands that had performed hard work for many years.  
There was dirt under his finger nails, but he smelled strangely sweet.  
His smile was disarming, but she focused her glance at the drop of sweat that tingled his cheek.  
"Just help us, Abby," he said. "We need you. Lumic just wants to know what happened to you, and I do too.  
"I know what he wants to know. And I can't help him." Abigail spoke.  
Ben looked away.  
"Was it Torchwood?" he asked. "Was it them?"  
They hurt me yesterday," Abigail answered. " They were ready to kill me, because of you."  
"Was it him? Harkness?" Ben asked, but Abigail simply gazed deeply into his eyes, stunning him.  
"Does it matter anymore?" she said. "Does anything matter?"  
"Yes, it does." Ben said.  
He grabbed her hand, but Abigail pulled it back.  
"Let s go to Lumic. He can explain everything."  
"He only wants what I know. They all want what I know. But I don 't know anything!"  
"Tell him that!" Ben said.  
LET GO OF MY FUCKING ARM!!! Abigail suddenly shouted when Ben again tried to hold her.  
She let her head fall on the pillow again, as she slowly started sobbing.  
She couldn't handle it anymore. She didn't want it. She was fed up with everything!  
There was no point now, was there?  
He is dead, and he's not coming back.  
Someone else did, some other man fighting some other battle in some other place.  
Some better man was using her love's body to continue this fight, to save this planet, to do magical things, better things, things a normal, mortal man could never compete with.  
Their love was meaningless if fate wouldn t allow it to keep on living, in favour of some immortal hero.  
It had to be.  
And if their love was meaningless, then so was her life.  
"I m through. I m done. I m out." she said to the wall. "Now leave me alone."  
Ben let his head hang as he held on to the side of Abigail s bed, simply breathing and pondering ways to resurrect Abigail Williams.

"Don't you think I miss him?" Ben asked. "He was my brother, you know?"  
"He was a better man than you!" Abigail said.  
"He was always the better man! The good son! The favourite son! He always felt too good to be doing Lumic favors, but I didn't! He could never get his hands dirty, but look at me! Just now I've been digging corpses out of the graveyard!"  
Abigail gasped.  
"I've been working for years now to save my family! To support my mum! And where was he? In prison, that's where!"  
"He was innocent," Abigail said, tears gushing down her eyes, but Ben couldn't see it, as she had turned to face the wall.  
"Of course he was innocent! He's never done anything remotely criminal in his life!" Ben shouted, before he calmed down. "Of course, that s not true. He was the worst liar in the history of the world, but he lied. He could be just as bad as anyone." "Yet he chose not to." Abigail finished. "That's what makes him the better man. That's what made me fall in love with him."  
Ben smiled faintly, without glancing up at Abigail.  
"I did admire your bravery though," he said. "Working in that prison day after day, facing inmate after inmate just to catch a glimpse of Joe."  
He was picturing the scene in his head, but then his tone changed. "Lumic got you that job."  
"And I paid for it. I ve done my bit. Now I don t want to be part of it anymore."  
"Thing is, Abby, you can't." Ben spoke.  
"We're all in this together, and you know too much to be let go that easily. Of course, right now, you're lucky to know anything, considering you should've died weeks ago."  
Abigail turned around and pulled herself upright, unable to believe what was just said.  
Now she tried to catch his eyes, but he looked away.  
"No," she gasped, and he got off his knees. "You killed him!" "  
It wasn t me." Ben said. "It was Lumic. He ordered Crane s men to kill you."  
Abigail remembered the men in the truck. She saw their faces now clearly in front of them, but when she tried to focus they faded away.  
"Of course the stupid hero would've tried to save you! And he died, because of some stupid piece of glass in his heart!" "They killed him!" Abigail cried. "They murdered him!" "Well, they didn't did they?" Ben said. "He came back, didn't he? You and I both saw it."  
He sighed. "The best thing Joe ever did with his life and they took it from us. It was Torchwood, wasn't it that took his body from the morgue?"  
Abigail now resisted his grasp, but he took her wrists and did not let go.  
"Now I need you to tell me, Abby, to tell Lumic what you saw. He's waiting for us, and I have been asked to get you to him one way or another."  
Abigail looked into his longing eyes, knowing he would hate himself for ever striking her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do it.  
Just to skip to the end of it all, Abigail rose from her bed and let Ben guide her to Lumic's chambers.  
And everything about his touch, she hated. And everything about this building, she hated.  
And if she ever got a chance to kill Lumic, she'd take it, even if it was the last thing she'd do.


	56. Chapter 56

The voice had been clear about its intentions. The threat had been issued.  
Before the message had ended the computer had already tracked the source of the call.

"Ianto, with me," Jack said as he reached for his coat.  
Ianto instinctively approached the Autopsy Room, but Jack somehow read his thoughts as he spoke:  
"Leave him! He's not going anywhere."  
But he wasn't the one who saw Joseph's hand twitch.

"But it doesn't make sense!" Martha said, analyzing the voice pattern on the computer. "It's all disjointed. You can tell something's not right!"  
Gwen told her how to work the software, that Jack had activated the second Abigail's phone rang.  
Martha's eyes scanned the horizontal bar with sound waves and analyzed each individual spike in the caller's voice.  
She watched Gwen follow Ianto and Jack into the tunnel, before she returned with her earpiece in.

"The call came from an apartment in Hunter Street, not far from here," Gwen spoke into her earpiece, "It's residents are one miss Helen Watson, 28, and her partner Lydia Storms, 30. I'm sending you the co-ordinates now."  
"Any ties to Lumic?" Jack asked as he let the steering-wheel slip through his hands, cruising into a cautious bend.  
"No, their records are clean." Gwen replied.  
Ianto gripped the side of the chair, without looking away from the street ahead.  
In his mind he went through his pockets, checking the insides for his keys, his pocket knife, and the gun in his chest pocket he knew he most likely would end up using today.  
He checked his wrist watch for the time and cross-checked it with the truck's internal clock.

Gwen read Helen Watson's file but saw nothing to indicate any connection to the criminals that had kidnapped Abigail, yet the call had clearly come from her apartment.  
The closer Jack got to the source, the more Gwen felt something terrible was about to happen.  
Nothing about this felt right.

The fact that she had already gone through these files one day earlier, as she went through the contents and contacts on Abigail's phone, only made her feel worse.  
She had already read everything there was to read.

"How could we miss this? Why can't we see?"  
Martha interrupted her with her findings.  
"I knew it," she said. "Look at this. You know those blackmail letters you always see in movies, right? Letters with words cut from newspapers plastered to the page," Martha said, analyzing the call. "It's like that, only worse."  
Martha looked at Gwen before she played the unaltered audio sample.  
She had removed the pitch and distortion to reveal the message hidden underneath the words, words ripped out of context and placed into a different sentence, like pieces of a puzzle all out of place.  
That's what had put them off when they heard it, because it sounded unnatural.

"TORCHWOOD." it had said. "GIVE. US. THE. BODY. OF. JOSEPH MILTON. OR. ABIGAIL WILLIAMS. WILL. DIE."

"They're bluffing," Gwen had said, immediately after the message ended. "They wouldn't do that."  
But now she knew they meant business.  
"That's my voice," Gwen said as she heard the words again. "They used my voice!"

Tyres screeched across asphalt as it came to a sudden, ripping halt in front of the house.  
They prepared their weapons and stepped out of the truck, walking past an elderly woman who approached them. She didn't notice the weapons they were carrying, apparently under the impression they were police.  
"I've been hearing screams!" the old woman said, and Jack looked at Ianto. "Something's not right in there! There were raised voices this morning and cars, lots of cars!"  
Jack looked back into the street and his eyes immediately caught the look of a big, black BMW, that quickly drove off when they realized Jack had noticed them.  
"You are the police, aren't you?" the old woman asked, looking up and down his strange uniform, and Jack waited to see her reaction as Ianto memorized the car's license plate and quickly informed Gwen.  
"Jack!" Gwen spoke through the earpiece. "Get out of their Jack! They're expecting us. They know we're coming. It's a trap!"  
The old woman's gaze was now fixed upon Jack and her trust in them dwindled as she saw finally noticed their guns with her beady eyes.  
"I know who you are," the old lady spoke with scornful eyes. Her wrinkled, spotted hands were trembling in the outside cold. "...you're _Torchwood_."

Jack sighed as he looked down upon her, unable to move, until his eyes caught more movement in the streets as more people started noticing them, wondering what was going on.  
When Ianto's knocks weren't answered he kicked the door down and Jack quickly followed inside.  
They checked the first floor, before running upstairs to the third floor where Gwen's info told them the call had come from.  
"Helen?!" Ianto cried, aiming his weapon into the building's hallways. "Lydia?!"  
"Miss Watson!" Jack shouted, taking the lead and poking his old antique pistol around corners, following a trail of blood into the kitchen where a woman had been tied to a chair, which had fallen over.  
When he crouched down to feel her pulse he felt a faint sign of life.  
"She's alive," Jack said, leaving the unconscious girl in capable hands, before he rushed to the other side of the apartment.  
Ianto made sure the rest of the house was secure before he started untying the girl's bound hands and dragged her body away from the chair.  
When she felt his touch she awakened and held on to his clothes for her life, but through her sobbing and cries she was trying to tell him something.  
"Lydia?!" she gasped. "Where is Lydia?"

Jack used his wrist device to scan the rooms, and he found something that did not belong in the bedroom.  
Some volatile elements compressed inside a small device, something that might explain why this place had been chosen, why these people had been tortured…  
"Is there anyone there?!" he cried. "Anyone?"  
The silence terrified him, so he took his gun and kicked down the final door where a malicious timer was waiting for him.  
A booby-trap, and there were only 6 seconds left before it would go off.  
He should've listened to Gwen.  
Jack ran out the room shouting: "IAANTTOOO!!!"  
Every cell of his body was shouting in terror, running as far away as possible, knowing he couldn't outrun it.  
In the kitchen Ianto looked up, cradling the fragile figure of the tortured woman in his hands, unable to outrun anything.  
So, when those six seconds were over the unstoppable explosion tore down the apartment and shattered the walls, turning everything into bricks and dust.  
And all Gwen could hear was static, when Jack arose from the debris feeling every bone in his body ache and bleed.  
"Ianto!" he cried, covered in black dust.  
Police sirens approached, quickening their pace to answer the call that they had received not long ago from the old woman, however the explosion changed everything.  
Destroyed and beaten, succumbing to the dark and too tired to resist, Jack let himself fall back into the debris.  
His back broken, he fell upon a pile of bricks and lost consciousness.

* * *

"Neutralized," Crane spoke, snapping his phone shut and popping it back in its pocket.  
"But I'm telling you, you haven't seen the last of him. He's like weeds, always growing back when you don't want them."  
"A gardening metaphor?" Lumic asked.  
"Don't mind me, the wife's been doing a bit of gardening, bless her, and I'm keeping as far away from her as I can this week. She can drive you insane that woman. Love of my life."  
The faint echo of a once booming, articulate voice gasped through a plastic mask for another hit of pure oxygen.  
Crane carefully stepped aside to let Lumic's personal physician pass.  
The doctor checked the dripping tubes that fed his patient several transparent liquids from tagged bags.  
Crane ogled them, trying not to look at his ill boss, pretending none of this was actually happening.  
It wasn't hard to look him straight in the eye and lie, knowing fully well that the truth would hurt, maybe even insult this dying man in his hospital bed, but sometimes it was hard to see how he weak he really was, how he couldn't even chew his own food, or keep his hands from shaking.  
But the old man did anything to maintain his image of strength, even at this point in his life, his delusional mind and superiority complex reigned.  
His huge eyes beamed outward without blinking. The plastic mask crushed his bushy, grey beard.  
"Good." Lumic spoke with a broken, booming voice, gasping for air at every interval. "Abigail. Send her in."  
Crane glanced at the doctor.  
"I need her! Do as I tell you! Follow my orders!"  
'How long have they been partners?' Crane thought to himself. 'How long had he been cleaning up his dirty work? And now he's just following orders?'  
"Of course," Crane said smiling, hesitating one moment before walking out the room.  
"He wants her," he scowled at Ben. "Get her in there."

* * *

The black car was there again, lurking at the outskirts of the debris area, cornered off by police tape, a perimeter now surrounded by people, frightened neighbours and curious strangers and every one of them holding a camera to capture the moment, even before the media themselves arrived to cover the event.  
It was he who had found him and had called Valerie's assistance immediately, dragging his dead body across the debris field into a quickly put police-tent.  
One of the firemen felt his pulse and shook his head, but he didn't know the truth.  
"It's all right," Mickey had said. "Just leave him here."  
"He's dead, Mickey!" Valerie said, taking charge.  
Captain Jack's pea coat was covered in dust and with his face blackened he looked like he a chimney sweeper.  
"I don't know what you're expecting him to do, but he's not coming back!"  
Jack jolted upright with a loud gasp for air, grasping Valerie's arm because she was nearest.  
"Jack!" Mickey said. Valerie was lost for words.  
"Ianto…" was the first thing Jack said. "He was in there."  
Jack stumbled out of the tent, shedding off Valerie's grip who had still been holding his arm as he stepped back into the disaster site.  
Sunlight hit him through the gap that now lingered between the two houses, where once a similar building had existed, completely blown away into a pile of bricks.  
Parts of piping from the destroyed building was still clinging on to the walls of the other houses, as were half a toilet and a cabinet.  
Jack stepped into the shards of a broken mirror, lying in the dust at his feet.  
Firemen and other rescue workers that were clearing up the destruction, looking for anyone who had been caught in the blast and buried underneath the rubble, now looked up at the walking dead man.

"It was a bomb," Jack told Valerie and Mickey, without looking away from the rubble.  
He tried to remember the setting; the front door, the hallway, the couple living in the downstairs apartment and the amount of steps they ran to get to the third floor.  
The kitchen, that's where he had left him, to take care of the girl. The girl.  
Jack still felt his insides burning, regenerating bits and pieces from where either the bomb, the heat or any shrapnel might've hit him.  
He twisted his right shoulder and elbow as he climbed back on top of the debris.  
"Ianto!" he cried, as he started to dig, confirming Mickey's suspicions. He started digging as well, throwing aside anything that lay in his path to find him.  
Gwen and Martha cut through the red tape to find them, and DCI Valerie let them through.  
"They're with me," Jack had said, and Martha was quick to hug him, causing the dust to rub off on her jacket, but she neither noticed nor cared.  
"Where's Ianto?" she asked.  
Gwen saw how the firemen carried the bodies of an older man and woman away from the debris, trying desperately not to imagine Ianto like that  
Jack gasped for breath, disorientated by death, loss, the sounds and sights of police sirens and men shouting, the gasses and dust clouds emanating from the debris and the constant ringing in his ears, he stumbled backwards, before finally remembering the abilities of his wrist device.  
He opened its leather strapping, covered in dust, and re-activated the indestructible gadget to scan for life signs.

"Whoa momma!" Jack cried out excitedly. "Would you look at that! There's a large pocket of energy buried beneath us. It's alien, it's fantastic, and it's right over there!"  
He lead them to a spot of debris two metres away from their original dig, and they all started working to clear the debris.  
Bright, purple light started emanating from the rubble, colouring the dust, most of it slowly seeping through cracks and holes that would widen every time they moved something out of their way.  
Two firemen started to help them when they noticed the lights and finally when they moved a mattress they could see the source: inside a large, purple energy bubble sat Ianto holding Helen, looking up at his rescuers with a certain amount of pride, for when he heard Jack's cry before the bomb went off, Ianto had reached for two things: his gun, and the small, little alien gadget shaped like a pebble that they used to imprison fugitive aliens in the field.  
That same alien energy cell had now saved their lives, having deflected the explosion and withstood the destruction.  
The cell had now engulfed them like a bubble, when the building's structure fell apart and they were running out of air.  
"I can't believe it," Martha said incredulously.  
"You better believe it." Jack beamed, as he finally took Ianto's hand to lift him out of the debris and hugged him tight, before kissing him.


	57. Chapter 57

His hair was still covered in sand and debris, ashes of the destruction that killed him, yet there he stood, Captain Jack Harkness.

This was not the man he used to know.  
This was a stranger with the same face, the same smile, the same gun, but never the same eyes.

"You shouldn't have come here, Mickey." Jack said.

"I'm doing what I've always done." Mickey replied. "I'm here to stop Lumic."  
"But you don't have to." Jack said.

The building had been evacuated, but Jack had taken Mickey inside nonetheless.  
Bright light shone through the windows

"I know you think you're fighting the good fight, but you're just a kid, Mickey."  
"Yeah? Well, what about Gwen or Ianto? They're not much older than me."  
"They're old enough." Jack said. "They've seen enough."

"I've seen things. I've done things. I've seen men crying for help as the Cybermen sliced their brains out. It's burned into my mind, and I'll never forget it. I'm not a kid anymore, Jack."  
"That's what saddens me." Jack said softly. "Mickey Smith. Parents died when you were too young to remember. Raised by your grandmother who fell down the stairs. Tell me, Mickey, what would your life have been like if you had never met the Doctor? Have you ever thought about it? Dreamed about it?"  
Mickey felt uncomfortable somehow, because there had been times he had.

"Sometimes," he said.

"You had Rose, you had a job, you had your mates, you had a future, but now look at you. You have no house, no money, no social security number. You're officially dead here, Mickey. Is this what you came back for? Because you know the truth, Mickey, you didn't have anything at all, not even in the beginning. You were always alone, clinging to Rose or her mother, working a dead-end job, because you didn't have any other skills."  
"Yeah? And how'd you know that? Because you read my file? You can't judge a man by a piece of paper."  
Jack shook his head.

"I saw you," Jack said. "Years ago."  
Mickey saw something in his eyes, something nostalgic, it was the look his grandmother used to have when she told him stories of the past, of his parents, of her youth.

"Why are you here, Mickey? Why are you really here?" Jack asked.

Mickey didn't care anymore. It felt good to finally give up all pretence and just reveal the ugly truth.

"Fine." he said. "It doesn't matter anyway. I'm here because I've got nowhere else to go. It's like you said. I've got nothing. Last night, before I found you at the police station, I had been sitting at the train station all day, just sitting there, like a bum, pretending to be waiting for a train, but I wasn't going anywhere, and I thought to myself: if there's anything I can do, if there's one thing I'm still good at, then it's...fighting the good fight. I've worked for Torchwood in the other reality, I fought Lumic's Cybermen, and if they're coming back here then I'm going to stop them. I owe it to myself, I owe it to the thousands of men, women and children that died in that other world, and that I can save in this one. So if you won't have me, it's not going to stop me from trying to help. I've seen the future, and I know how to stop it."

Jack gleamed, his gaze filled with pride.

"You're in for a lot of trouble, Mickey Smith." he said to him. "There's a lot you still have to learn, but you might just make it. I'll have you on the team, if you still want to be, but there's some things you have to remember.

With Torchwood, you'll have to give up everything to serve Queen and country, everything you own, everything you are, and when you die it will be in the line of duty. Not one member of Torchwood has died of old age in their sleep, you remember that. There's a curse on this job, Mickey. We protect the world against threats from space, time, and sometimes we even protect it against itself."  
"So what are you saying?" Mickey said. "Get out while you still can?"  
Jack casually shrugged.

"You can still walk away. Pick a life and live it. If you want I could give you a new identity, a house, a job..."  
"You'd do that for me?"  
"Anything for an old friend." Jack said. "I could even retcon you, make you forget about everything..."  
Mickey looked at Jack and saw right through the casual way Jack said it, and for a moment their eyes locked in a gaze.

"All those men dying..." Jack said.

"Why are you doing this?" Mickey asked.

"Because not all men need to die." Jack said, and he walked away.

Mickey knew it had been a legitimate offer.

Jack was being serious, and it scared the hell out of him.

Helen was pulled from the smoking rubble, but clung on to Ianto, never letting his hand go, not even as they carried her to the ambulance on a stretcher.

"You'll be all right!" Ianto said to her, holding her hand and running after the stretcher to keep up.

"These are good men. They'll take care of you."  
And all she could do was cry for her lover, who Ianto had no way of knowing could still be lying underneath the rubble somewhere.

And the pain, and the shock, it overwhelmed her, her entire world literally blown away.

When she finally let go, Ianto remained standing in one exact spot until he saw Jack watching.

Then Martha took his now empty hand and pulled him closer.

"I'm fine," Ianto said, when she checked his pupils with a flashlight.  
"You were hit by a house. Literally." Martha replied, blinding his other eye. "So I'm not just going to take your word for it. Sit down and let me have a look at you."

"Was it Crane's men?" Gwen asked when Jack returned, rubbing his forehead, pondering an unknown thought.

She kept him in her sight, thinking he could topple over any minute, yet none of the deaths he had experienced before had ever really had its impact on Jack.

There'd never been any broken bones before or blood transfusions.

It was like his body repaired itself straight away, miraculously, impossibly.

Would he survive decapitation? Would his organs grow back when cut out?

"Jack?!" Gwen insisted, yet Jack seemed strangely weak.

Gwen was wrong to think the bomb had no impact on Jack.  
"I don't know," Jack said, and it seemed trying to remember hurt him.

"Did you see anyone? What kind of bomb did they use?"  
"I can't remember."  
"Focus, Jack!" Gwen cried. "The police will soon be asking you the same questions."  
"And I'll tell them what I told you. I don't know!"  
"They used my voice, Jack!" Gwen said to him. "Lumic knows we retconned him, he knows who we are. They probably recorded everything...They're probably watching us right now!"  
Jack looked into the crowd of people far into the street, restricted outside of the crime scene and safely away from the damaged area.

The whole block had already been evacuated out of fear of more collapsing buildings, or more bombs.

"They're watching us, all right." Jack said. "This is much bigger than I thought. Much, much bigger. They didn't want us to deal. They didn't even give us a time or place to exchange Joe's body. They knew we would track that call."  
"Whatever they're doing, we must've been a threat. They knew we were after Abigail, so they must've thought we were on to something."

Through the dust and debris, Valerie Seasons approached them, eyeing Jack's battered, dusty coat with disappointed disdain.

"I thought you could handle this, Jack." she said. "I didn't ask last night about Abigail or Crane, because I thought you were professionals. I assumed you knew what you were doing.

I tolerated Torchwood, but no more. This is the final straw, Captain Jack Harkness. Now you tell me what I need to know, because you're not the Sheriff of Cardiff. You're a man with a team and some handy gadgets.

Now I'm giving you one final chance to sort this mess out, or I will. Now I need to tell the press something about this, before they all start shouting 'terrorist attack!' across the three o'clock news, or 'alien invasion!'"

"Why'd you assume it's alien?" Jack said smiling.

"Because if it were human, it'd be _my_ responsibility."

Jack's smile faded quietly.

"Please," Valerie said, her lip gloss glistened in the young afternoon sun.

Jack agreed, but not before he had finished his own business.

"Tell Mickey to find me." he said to her. "Tell him I need him."

"You _need _him?"

"He'll know." Jack said as he turned away.

By bombing them, trapping them, they'd only made it personal.

This wasn't over.

"What are we going to do, Jack?" Gwen asked, following Jack's stride.

"We're going to find out what Lumic's doing and we're going to stop it." Jack answered.

* * *

Ben pulled her arm, forcing her to follow him through the bleak corridors.

Judging by the acoustics they were deep below ground.

Ben had come for her finally when the doctors agreed Lumic was strong enough.  
They came and went, doctors and patients alike, walking through these dark corridors, a secret hospital below the surface.

The doctors shied away from every physical contact in the corridors and darky kept to their own path when confronted with others. They dared not to look anyone else in the eye and face their own shame and guilt.

Patients were carried on stretchers, feeling and thinking nothing but sedatives and drugs, and the only conscious patient Abigail passed she feared, because his deathly eyes kept haunting her down the corridor.

But then she remembered.

She was one of them now.

The screams echoed through the white and sterile gloom, but Abigail didn't let it affect her.

She could've died in that church last night and never feel the difference.

This very place could be the other side, her own personal hell after death.

She vowed to fight her way out of this undeserving place, gnawing through the cement walls or scratching through solid rock if she had to, maybe even kill the hand that was holding hers right now in a vice-like grip, tugging her through the hallways towards her destined meeting with John Lumic.

She heard mechanical whirring, like the piercing singe of saws followed by muffled grunts of battered flesh and male screams whenever the doors of the surgical halls opened and closed.

Every time the screams grew louder, Ben quickened his pace and pulled her arm even more fiercely.  
Abigail noticed Crane's men following them.  
She had a bad feeling about where this was going.

Was this what she had been tricked into aiding all those years ago? Was this where she had sent all those people, making them believe it was some kind of experimental pharmaceutical research facility and in fact it was this asylum, this factory!

"Is this what you were doing all this time?" Abigail asked Ben. "Turning people into meat?"  
"People are meat." Ben replied swift. "Flesh is a design flaw."  
The screams continued; the corridor wouldn't end.

How far down had they gone? Where were they, what place was this?

"Do you even know what you are saying?" Abigail said.

"You're the nurse, Abby," Ben said to her. "You tell me. Do I?"  
A man in a lab coat, pushing a stretcher with a man-sized plastic bag on it passed them, and there were others carrying white boxes and red stained plastic bags.  
"What is this place?"

"It's necessary evil." Ben said, upon entering the final, heavy door.

Only now did Abigail realize, upon looking up, that cameras had been watching her every step of the way.

"Then this truly is hell."


	58. Chapter 58

She could hear him breathing through the mask, gasping for air, this frightfully fragile man.

She had been so scared of him, even though she's never seen him outside of his powerful wheelchair.

"Why am I here?" she said.

Ben lead her towards the bed, even though she felt every inch of her body protesting his grip, even though several voices at once were screaming in her brain not to approach the dying man, not to see his dying face.

When she was a young girl her grandmother died, and her parents took her to her wake.

She remembered looking down into that open casket and see the deathly figure of her grandmother lying there, and all the while she was giving condolences and telling unknown, old relatives that she was sorry for their loss.

Inside the casket lay this lifeless vessel, and it wasn't like she seemed asleep, she seemed totally devoid of life, like a wax doll or plastic mannequin.  
It felt so fake, so unreal, and so anti-climactic.

She dreaded that same emotion now, remembering how much that image had traumatized her, remembering how much seeing Joseph's still body had hurt her, even though she felt absolutely nothing.

She'd felt so hollow this time so empty, without hope, without grief, without anything, as if all light and all darkness had been taken from her, and she was left a shadow of dust, to be blown away in the wind.

This wasn't real, she told herself, it was fake.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

And it wasn't.

"You're a nurse," Ben said to her. "Look at him. Why can't you look at him?"

As a nurse she was supposed to get used to the feeling of death, but the image of her dead grandmother never stopped haunting her, not after any cured patient, not after any sick child's smile.

"Death isn't a pretty sight to look at." John Lumic said.

His faded booming voice crackled muffled through the plastic mask.

He tried to sit upright in his bed, and took off his mask to look at Abigail.

She could see his chest heaving up and down in panic, trying to suck as much energy out of the surrounding air as possible, down in this dark cellar.

It was like he had buried himself into the ground so that no-one would have to see the great John Lumic suffer, unable to stand, unable to even change himself or breathe without help.

The great inventor and businessman, the innovator and founder of many great technologies that have already been a great benefit to the progress of modern mankind.

His technologies have saved millions of lives, yet all Abigail cared about was the murder of one man.

Could those millions of lives redeem him for killing that one man? Or could saving one man redeem a mass murderer?  
A simple answer could be uttered, but she couldn't, not in the face of this suffering, dying man.

"You know, don't you?" Lumic said to her, knowing how she saw him at that moment.

"But then you always have been a smart girl."  
He let his head drop down into the pillow with a tired, painful sigh, to look at the cracked ceiling.

Still Abigail wondered where they had taken her, what kind of a place this truly was.

"I stilll remember the day we met," the old man said. "It was a Sunday, wasn't it?"  
He coughed.

"It was raining." she added, and she couldn't believe herself for playing along.

"Yes..." Lumic spoke and his big eyes scanned the ceiling as if he was searching his memory like an editor would skim film, looking for the right scene in the movie.

"I was younger then..."  
Ben kept to the shadows, obeying his uncle's wishes, yet Abigail could still feel his presence and his eyes on her body.

"How long?" Abigail asked and Lumic sighed.

"Months, instead of years. Days, instead of weeks. Minutes, instead of hours. I....am dying..."  
"And you think I can save you, is that it?" Abigail said, breaking character, breaking the mask of sad understanding and empathy for the dying patient.

She felt or imagined Ben's disdain, but she didn't see him.

"Why is everyone after me? What is it they want? I'm not special, I'm not special at all."  
"But you are." Lumic said. "For everything there is a time and place, and in this world you were there, at a time, at a place. Your mere presence alone, your memories, your actions, change your world, forging a past, creating a future..."  
He gasped for air in his mask as a doctor watched keenly in the shadows, keeping a close eye on his vital signs.

"You changed Joseph's life, and you have affected mine."  
"How?" Abigail asked.

"Joseph's resurrection showed me that death is not the end." Lumic answered. "And you know how he did it. Tell me."  
The empathy in his voice had gone swiftly, replaced by a voice of greed, desperately clawing at the world around him to give him what he wants, what he needs to survive.

Yes, John Lumic is a survivor.

Any other man would've succumbed to his disease years ago, even with the same expensive medical attention he's had, yet his obsessions kept him going.

"But I don't know." Abigail said steadfast. "I don't."  
"No point in lying now, Abby." Ben said in the shadows behind her. "We know."  
"I...will have...the truth!" Lumic struggled to cry out in bed, and the doctor rushed to calm him down.

For a split second she had forgotten, for a second she forgot what Owen had told her, the impossible, mysterious man who had taken over Joseph's body, but how?

For more than a second she remembered herself, pictured herself, running with Joseph. And it was him that saved her, not Owen.

Yet this other man, this other Joe, saved her life and died whilst doing so. Another life lost, down the drain, and for what?

The Spark. The spark of life...rebirth...that's why they wanted him. He was the key to immortality. The key to saving this doomed man's life.

That's why Lumic wanted her. That's why she's still alive now.  
It's ironic that the reason they had tried to kill her before, knowing too much, was now the only thing keeping her alive.

But for how long?

Abigail approached the bed even closer to see deep into John Lumic's eyes.

Ben stepped from the shadows to stop her, but Lumic allowed her to come close.

He watched her, confused and powerless, too weak to resist any attack on his life, yet Abigail felt nothing in the face of this dying man, not even hate, in the face of death and her future murderer.

"Are you going to kill me?" Abigail asked.

Lumic breathed deeply into the mask.

"Yes." he spoke.

In his final moments there was no room for lies, no more room for guilt on his soul.

Abigail appreciated this newfound certainty, this brutal, simple honesty.

"Why?" Abigail said, losing her voice in a sudden surge of tears that welled up in her eyes.

She focused hard to keep look at Lumic through the tears, without breaking eye contact.

"Because you want to." Lumic said. "Joseph is dead, isn't he?"  
Abigail knew he was fishing for answers again.

"Do _you_ want to die?" she asked him instead. "Have you ever felt the pain that I'm feeling right now?"  
He paused for breath without blinking or breaking this intense eye contact.

The dying man's sincerity pierced the silence like a deadly blade.

"Yes."

'You killed him." Abigail said. "You killed your own nephew."  
"It was his own choice. He died saving your life."  
Abigail burst into tears, talking to the man who would have her seen dead if it were up to him, and he didn't even flinch, or blink, or hesitate to speak of it.

He had nothing to lose by telling her, nor did he care how she felt about it.

His big eyes simply gazed down at her coldly, as if they looked right through her, as if he were staring at a blank wall.

"Why don't you care? He was your family!"

"It is too late now." Lumic said. "Everything I have done has lead to this moment, this turning point in history. I regret nothing."  
"Not even the death of your nephew?"  
"His death was the inspiration to my work!" Lumic spoke, his hands trembling.

"Because of his sacrifice the world will be a better place. My invention will change the world!"  
"What invention?!" Abigail cried, as Lumic became the victim of a deadly coughing fit.  
The doctor had to help him to overcome the pains.

"What invention?!"

* * *

Minister of Defence Jeremy Clifton had stepped out of his car that very morning, adjusting the buttons on his suit with a distracted glance.

There had something he had forgotten, and the only clue he had was his twitching eye.

The old man looked up into the same sun that in turn blinded Captain Jack Harkness at that exact same moment, and he put his arm around his wife Andrea and kissed her.

"Happy anniversary darling," he said to her in the driveway of their home.

"You promised me you'd have lunch with me today," she said to him snappy, gripping her purse as she lead him inside.

"I know." he sighed.

He smiled watching her aged, yet elegant, voloptuous body walk toward towards the door, her heels pressing into the gritty path with every step.

She raised her eyebrows, seeing his reflection following her in the window.

"What are you doing?" she asked him disdainfully, and he touched his lower lip.

They had turned dry during the drive home.

"Cissy called, by the way," she added.

"I really don't care." Mr. Clifton replied, and he loved to say it.

He tried to say it as much as possible, whenever he could.

"Where's Michael? I want to see him." he asked, as they stepped through the kitchen door, immediately leaving behind the cold winds and entering a stable, warm kitchen run by a maid, preparing their lunch.

He could smell bacon and eggs on his way inside, peeking over the shoulder of the cook.

"It's always business with you, Jeremy." Andrea spoke.

"Not that Michael! Our Michael! Our son Michael!" Clifton corrected. "I thought he'd be here today for our anniversary!"  
"Yes, well, he's running late, as always." Andrea said as she picked up her little pekinese dog from the floor.

He had never liked that dog.

"Ow!"  
For a split second Clifton put his hand down on the kitchen counter, not realizing the knife that lay there, forgotten by the cook.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Clifton!" the lady spoke.

"That's all right, Grace." he spoke, cradling his hurt hand, although he kept his eye fixed upon the sharp blade that cut him. "I should've been more careful."  
"Should I get some bandages?" she asked.

"No, that's fine, Grace." he replied to the kind cook. "I can take it from here."  
"Coming, dear?" Andrea asked, before turning into the living room.

"Yes," he spoke weakly. "Yes, I am."  
He examined his hurt hand, but there was nothing there, although he could've sworn he had just cut himself.

There was no wound at all, even though there was a pinch of blood in the palm of his hand that proved he had to.

He could still feel the pain, but there was absolutely nothing but the blood he had just wiped away, and a strange smell of burnt copper on his skin.

He had smelled it before.

"Jeremy? Are you all right?" Andrea asked as she saw him walking into the living room, cradling his hand, and he looked up at her as if he'd just seen a ghost.

He shook his head and shrugged it off, and then he smiled at his wife through his small, round glasses.

"I'm fine, surely." he said. "I thought I'd cut myself, but I was lucky."  
He wiped the imaginary drop of blood from his hand with a napkin as he sat down at the dinner table.  
Andrea smiled at him for the first time that day, happy that he was finally where he belonged.

Then when his phone rang she gave an annoyed sigh, for the phone's dull ring had shattered her dream once again.

"Could you just leave it, for once? Could you not answer it..."  
But he had already put the small phone to his ear.

"Yes?" he said. "Ah, Mellissa. I'm glad you called."  
Andrea hated to see that smirk on his face.

She glared at him, hoping he would notice, and when he finally did he lost the arrogant tone in his voice.

"Well, yes, I'm fine. What do you mean?" he said to his personal assistant. "Who told you about that? No, Shelby Industries is fine."  
Her words confused him, because memories didn't allign.

"I've just been there, talking to that Stokes felllow, who's a miserable prat, but he promised me everything would work out. What do you mean I was upset? I was..."  
When he tried to recall the moment, it didn't appear.

He remembered reading a book, or something, cleaning a stain on his glasses, in his study, what time had it been?  
"Darling?" Andrea asked, seeing him turn pale all of a sudden.

He suddenly felt really warm, and he started to sweat.

"Nothing, dear," he reassured his wife with a whisper, lying through his teeth and there was silence on the other end.

"Yes, I remember, you were there..."  
A sudden pain in the back of his head took him by complete surprise, like an incredible itch you just couldn't reach, a pain he couldn't quite locate, yet it passed as soon as it happened.

He saw the used napking lying next to his plate and he saw the soft stain his blood left on one of its corners.

Something wasn't right, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"Ow!"  
The pain hit him again, like a small needle pricking him with the strength of a sledge hammer.

His head went fuzzy, feeling light and slightly dizzy, and he was suddenly glad he was sitting down.

"It's nothing," he said to both his wife and his assistant, yet he suddenly started to remember back to every doctor's appointment he ever had, and every fault they had found inside his body.

Was this the beginning of a stroke?

He gripped his left hand took a deep breath, then moved his lips and found he could still move and feel all.

"Shelby Industries isn't a problem," he said to his assistant, before swiftly ending the conversation, and just as quickly the pain left, as if it'd never been there.  
"Happy anniversary, darling," he said to his wife, and he reached for her hand.

She smiled blandly, but happily placed her hand on his, knowing he meant it this time.

"Happy anniversary."


	59. Chapter 59

When the paramedics jumped from the ambulance they were met with cries of panic and dismay.

"We were told he had a heart attack! Where is he?" Jackie cried.

She was Duncan's older colleague, mother of two small boys, and good at her job, she had her emergency kit ready and carried it across the lawn and into the house.

Duncan merely followed her lead without a word, but once every minute or so she threw him a glance, which told him exactly what she was thinking, exactly what he was taught to know.

He was her wingman, and together they were the only sane two people to trample the grass, where many guests of the mansion stood in their way.

They had to stick together, especially if things would turn out to be more than they could handle, and they both had a strong feeling this was one of those days.

"Brace yourself, kid," Jackie told him when they stepped through the front door, and he hated her for telling him off.

"What happened?" Jackie asked the victim's wife, whilst ogling the place for any place where he could possibly be.

They both expected him to be lying somewhere, flatlining, turning pale and without breath, somewhere on the expensive carpet perhaps, or in front of the fireplace.

Such a fancy location plays tricks on the mind and imagination.

"It was our anniversary," Andrea spoke, trying to control her tears, through shock and terror.

"It was supposed to be a laugh, Michael surprised him, but he-he fell over. The shock must've...must've..."

They rushed towards Mr. Clifton when they found him on the floor of the dining room.

"Get the stretcher!" Jackie cried, knowing they had to get him to an hospital as soon as possible.

* * *

The nurses saw it growing, underneath his pale skin, pulsating through veins like a swelling poison that spread.

As the deathly grey colour spread across his body it started to tremble, twitch and shudder, without a spike on his heart monitor to explain his condition.

"Where am I?" Defence Minister Clifton cried out and they immediately called the doctors.

He was breathing through a mask, he was wearing different clothes, he was in a bed, in a hospital.

Why were the nurses panicking? Why was the doctor running into his room?

"Andrea?" he asked, gasping, all the while not noticing the changes that were going on in his body, until the shudders grew worse.

He felt no pain, yet he could not control his body's shuddering motions.

He couldn't even feel his wife holding his hand.

"I-I-I..." he stammered, but the words didn't come to him.

Nothing came to him at all.

Where was he?

What had happened?

It had all happened in a blur, the way he grabbed his chest and pulled the table cloth and everything on it down to the floor with him as he fell, spilling a pot filled with tomato soup all over the expensive carpet.

Why didn't he feel his arm?

He felt her.

He heard them all screaming, asking questions...

What was happening?

Why was it getting harder to breathe?

What was...

Why...

"Get her out of here!"

The nurses took his wife out of the room and the doctor looked straight at him.

"You're going to be okay," he heard someone say, but he wasn't sure it was the doctor anymore.

He disappeared into a dreamless sleep when he lost consciousness, only to wake up at random every four minutes or so, like a man adrift at open sea and wave after wave flowed over him, burying him within the cold dark of the ocean until his head would resurface from the waves and he would see daylight again.

It blinded him.

* * *

He was miles away, but Rhys could swear he could see the smoke billowing into the air as if he was there right now, standing in front of the destroyed building.

The sky was filled with grey clouds, but all Rhys could see was his own feet trampling the weeds growing in between the street tiles underneath him, and the bristling pile of brown leaves that lingered in corners as he looked down.

"Pick up, will you!" he cried, punching the wall.

"Mr. Williams!" Janice cried. "Mr. Hartman's on the phone! Should I put him on hold?"  
Rhys didn't look up and only stuck a finger in the air to tell Janice he only needed a second, and that fucking dialtone wouldn't end.

"Pick up, Gwen!" he shouted into his mobile.

_She'd better be all right. She'd better be alive. Please, God, please let her be alive._

Janice was wrapping her cotton vest around herself to fight off the cold, waiting for her boss to come back into the office.

When he heard her voice-mail he buried his face into his palm, but there were no tears to dry.

"_...please leave a message after the beep! Thanks! BEEP!"  
_"Gwen? Are you all right?" Rhys said. "I've heard about the bombing. Were you involved? Are you all right? Call me, okay?!"

He waited a second that lasted an eternity, gazing out into nothing, until he finally pressed the button that ended the call, but the second still lasted.

The wind was blowing in one ear, when all of a sudden, almost immediately, the phone started ringing in the other.

"Gwen!"

"Rhys! I'm all right. I'm fine!" Gwen said on the other end.

Janice spotted the relieved expression on Rhys' face, but didn't want to listen in on this agitated and personal conversation, so she went back inside the building, dropping her cigarette on her way in and stamping on it to put it out.

"What's going on? Damnit, Gwen, don't leave me in the dark!"

"It's work, Rhys." Gwen said. "And you know it."  
"Sure, but I'm your husband, Gwen. Don't shut me out like that. We talked about this."  
"Yes, we have. That's why you should know better than this."

When she ended the conversation without another word Rhys went berserk.

"Don't shut me out like this, you lying piece of shit?!!" he shouted uncontrollably at his mobile, kicking away at the nearest garbage container, hurting his foot.

"Don't push me away!"

When was the last time he'd seen Gwen? The _real_ Gwen, not this _Torchwood_ Gwen, but _his_ Gwen? Had she ever been his Gwen? Wasn't it all just a bunch of lies, just like everything else?

Maybe it was time. Maybe he had been patient enough. Maybe he just had to get over there and confront Gwen with what he knew. Just say it out loud and watch the expression on her face.

That would be the real Gwen, right there. Whatever her eyes would tell her, that would be real.

But when Rhys calmed down he knew he was going too far.

He loved the bitch, and if he did that he was definitely going to lose her forever, and then _Torchwood would win_.

* * *

"...he was an old man." Helen said, lying uncomfortably in her hospital bed.

She had been tested all over, but every one of them had come out clean.

She was in perfect health, apart from the bruises and the parts where the ropes scratched her skin, but considering the alternative she was lucky to be alive at all.

"He just stood there, watching me, telling the others what to do. He even apologized to me, telling me they had to rough me up a bit to make it look real. I was supposed to distract them long enough, so they only find the bomb when it was too late."  
"The old man..." Martha Jones asked, as she sat next to her bed. "Did he look like this?"

She showed her a picture and Helen flinched and turned away her gaze, struggling not to burst into tears.

She could barely give Martha her answer. "Yes."

Martha turned to Mickey and he nodded in understanding.

He took the picture of a certain Mr. Crane back from Martha and put it back in his pocket.

"I want to see Lydia," Helen said. "Can you bring her back in?"

"Sure," Martha said, squeezing Helen's hand. "I'll give her a shout. You sure you're okay, though?"

"I need Lydia..."

When Martha walked out into the corridor she caught a glimpse of total panic in an adjacent room, where doctors were running around like headless chickens and police were guarding every door.

"What's going on?" she asked one of the nurses and she immediately reached for her ID.

"I'm with UNIT." she said, flashing her badge. "Now tell me what's going on."

The moment she heard about the Minister's heart attack she realized what must've happened.

She immediately called Jack.

"A heart-attack is just a heart-attack." he said to her. "But if it's anything else..."

"I'm on it." Martha said.

Mickey left Helen and Lydia, after they asked him to thank the man who saved Helen's life from the bottom of their hearts.

He promised he would.

He then followed Martha towards the other room, and through the glass window he could see her do what she did best, being a doctor, saving lives.

"Mickey!" Martha said, beckoning him inside the room, for she could use his help.

Andrea, the Minister's wife, noticed this and approached Mickey, determined to get some answers.

Something was happening to her husband, but nobody would tell her what.

"Why are you here?" Andrea asked Mickey. "Who are you?"

Mickey swallowed, looking inside the room at Martha, and then he looked back without fear or remorse, knowing exactly what to say.

"I'm Torchwood."


	60. Chapter 60

A bland sort of greyness fell upon the world, a different sort of light in the midday's rays, where the cold clouds vanished into puddles of rain.

A boot stomped the puddle's still surface, smashing its pure reflection of the midday sky.

The boot was brand new, but the trousers that fell around it were older.

He had chosen the boots himself that day, knowing his usual stylish shoes wouldn't be able to cut it in a long chase, and there was bound to be some running involved in any case.

They were brown, sort of leatherish, and they didn't fit the bottom half of the owner's sleak suit, or the top half, but it did fit the long coat he wore around it that protected him against the cold.

His breath turned to smoke when it touched the air, the only time it would that day.

He adjusted his cufflinks after taking a quick huff of a borrowed policeman's cigarette.

It ratttled his lungs, but calmed him down, which was the desired effect.

He brushed his suit, beneath the coat, and bend over to brush his knees and ankles for some invisible dust only he could see.

The puddle of rain water dissolved some of the dust and debris that had landed on the boots, but soaked the leather into a wet, gritty colour.

"Is he coming?" Ianto asked, peering across the road.

A shadow, like a stick figure in the distance kept moving by himself on top of the lonely hill.

Ianto kept his eyes fixed upon the figure, knowing his every quirk by heart, his every lonely move by nature.

He knew Jack was taking one hell of a risk meeting him like that, although a dark and narrow alleyway would have been a worse option.

The open space would enable them to keep a close eye upon the proceedings, leaving their target no possible way of escaping.

Not to mention the fact there was no risk of a possible hostage situation, knowing that Jack was unable to die.

Yet it was the presence of death itself that left Ianto rattled and uneasy, the fields filled with tombstones and whithering flowers, trampled grass and weeping angels.

Gwen got out of from the police van loud footfalls, shaking the van about, before jumping on to solid ground, and joined Ianto's watch, putting her arm around his.

He enjoyed her presence, although her forced cuddling not so much.

He figured he'd have to suffer an abnormal amount of love after almost dying and all, but wished it would end sooner, rather than later.

It's just a normal human reaction, but is it real?

"He's shut us out again, hasn't he?" Gwen asked, and Ianto realized it was.

"He's always doing this..."

"Leave him be." Ianto said, without any hint of anger in his voice. "He knows what he's doing."

"Are you sure?" Gwen asked. "After he almost got you killed..."

Ianto gazed out at the figure in the fields, wandering amongst the tombstones, waiting.

"He's dealing with things the way he thinks is best. Just like all of us. Even when he makes mistakes, even when he comes back from the dead, he's still human."  
Clouds were moving across the sky like the sails of ships sailing past the world, or was the world moving past the clouds?

Suddenly they saw something in the distance, driving down the road towards the cemetery's exit and Gwen reached for the binoculars, snatching them straight from the policeman's hands.

"Sorry, Fred." she said before gazing through.

"Where's Jack? Do you see him?" Ianto asked and Gwen searched for the familiar blue coat amongst the gravestones.

He turned to look up at Gwen and from a distance she could see him nod.

The license plate matched.

"It's him." Ianto said and Gwen knew immediately what to do.

"Positions!" she cried, and the policeman tasked to follow their orders did exactly that, whilst their superior Valerie watched.

All they needed now was that confession.

* * *

"Hello, Martin." Jack said to the old man who approached him with tired steps. "Long time no see."

The wrinkles in the old man's face distorted into a disgusted grin, but with a sigh it all came crashing down.

He looked upon Jack and nodded, knowing this was the reunion of two old men.

Jack smiled too, approaching him with a benevolent smile.

"I knew it was you." Crane said. "All these years, I said to myself, nah, It couldn't be, but I knew it."

"Who'd you think it was?"

"Your son or something." Crane said, putting his gloved hands in his coat pockets.

Jack smiled, almost gloating, like a magician asked to reveal how he'd pulled off his trick.

"You haven't even aged a day!"

But the magnificent smile soon faded from his face, his ancient eyes twinkling tearfully in silence, changing, transforming, as anger boiled up from beneath.

"I'm Torchwood." he said. "Always have been."

"Always will be." Crane said, looking around at the field of tombstones that surrounded them.

Both were reminded of their shared history, their original sin, and Crane knew Jack had chosen this location to meet for a purpose.

"Is that your team on the hill?" Crane said, pointing at the field opposite the cemetery, where he could see the van that stood there, watching them, and Crane realized Jack was probably wearing a wire.

In the midst of this open field he found himself feeling locked in, which was a strange sensation, confusing his senses, like an emotional paradox.

He looked around for exits and the way he came in, and then he looked back at Jack.

"There's no way out for me is there?" he said, accepting his fate.

Crane fell to his knees into the dirty soil.

"You knew this day would come." Jack spoke, judge, jury and executioner.

Crane adjusted his sleeves and coat.

He wanted to look his best in his final moments.

"My wife..." he said.

"She isn't here." Jack spoke and Crane let out a thankful sigh. "She never was."

"Kathy..." he said. "I never intended for it to happen, you know that, don't you Jack? I never wanted to do it, but if I hadn't..."

"What about Abigail?" Jack said. "Did you intend for that to happen?"

"Abigail was just business. Just like trapping you with that bomb was."

"And the church?" Jack asked.

"What church?" Crane said and Jack looked taken aback.

He looked at Crane, trying to see if he was lying, but he wasn't.

"I've done a lot of things in my time, Jack. Some of them really bad, but in my line of work, there isn't really much else to do. Someone has to do their dirty work. Lumic wasn't the first."

"No." Jack said. "But he'll be the last."

Crane let out a deep breath.

"So is this it, Jack?" he said. "Are these my final moments?"

"I'm not going to kill you." Jack said. "I'm giving you the chance to make up for what you've done. You can still save Abigail. Just tell me where she is."

"Ah." Crane said, spotting the flaw in his plan.

"We already know everything. Just tell us what we need to know."

"That might prove a bit of a problem. You see, Abigail Williams is dead."

Jack picked the old man up by his collar looking into his eyes in disgusted rage.

Every ounce of him wanted to shout and call him a liar, but the old man had shed all his lies.

His raging growl turned into a desperate breath.

There's no way they could've foreseen it, no way they could've stopped it, but why did that not lessen the pain he felt at that moment?

"Go back to your grandchildren." Jack said to Crane, letting go of his collar.

"One day you can tell them all about what you've done."

No hint of mercy in his voice, no hint of sympathy, only bare ruthlessness, the monster within that wanted to punish him.

But he wasn't the one who was responsible.

Jack was.

He could've stopped it, he could've prevented all this, but he was too busy focusing his thoughts in the wrong direction, so now somebody else paid the price.

He should've seen it coming.

All the bodies that were stolen from the cemetery, all the unusual readings that came from the Rift.

All this time he was telling himself something was coming, but he was wrong.

It was already here, he was just too stupid to see it.

Finally the blindfold had come off.

Jack turned his back on the old man kneeled down in the soil, leaving him there.

He had work to do.


	61. Chapter 61

"We've stabilised him for the moment," Martha said, feeling the adrenaline in her system calm down, but she knew it this moment of silence wouldn't last long.  
She swallowed, feeling her heart beat in her neck when talking to the Minister's family.  
It was already all over the news, the hospital's front doors were blocked with reporters and cameracrews, all desperate to get a look at the situation inside.  
Some had even tried to sneak in with a camera to get a closer look, but were apprehended before they could reach the Minister's private room.  
There were guards posted at every entrance and exit, isolating the entire corridor from the rest of the hospital, permitting only a handful of people to enter, and strangely enough, Mickey Smith was one of them.  
He sat in the corridor now, having listened to the family's story, waiting for the final verdict that would come from Martha's lips.  
Yet at the final moment she let the other doctors deliver the news and she faded into the background, feeling out of place.  
The reasons why she joined this medical investigation was to confirm Jack's suspicions, not to save the man's life.  
Therefore it seemed wrong somehow, to just face his family, knowing that in a few minutes she would be walking out of this hospital.

"There were some complications," the first doctor told Andrea. "But he's fine now."  
Her name was dr. Alyssa Mason, thirty three years old and she and her elderly colleague Sandy Jameson were the Defence Minister's personal physicians.  
Sandy had been serving him for ove 25 years now and had been making the most trouble in Martha's attempt to examine Minister Clifton's problem.  
He happily stepped in when Martha chose to back away.  
Sandy was already looking forward to the moment when he would face the media and tell them everything was going to be all right.  
Except it wasn't.

"We'll have to do some more tests, but I'm sure he'll be up and about during the course of the day." Alyssa said.  
"Positive." Sandy interjected. "I'll prescribe him some medication for his condition, a daily dose of maybe four pills that'll keep his spirits down but his body up, and of course he'll need a lot of rest."  
"Don't patronize me, Sandy." Andrea said to the doctor. "I know all about Jeremy's dicky heart, but what I need to know if he'll be all right. In the long run."  
"We'll know when his condition improves." Alyssa spoke.  
Sandy looked down at her, not in the least happy she said that, but he accepted it.  
"And what about you?" Andrea asked Martha.  
Martha didn't expect her question.  
Mickey watched Martha answer without hesitation.  
"I'm not allowed to say." she said.  
"And why not?"  
"Because what I might say could scare you."  
Andrea's eyes widened, just as Martha feared.  
Her mouth gaped wide open for a second's gasp where she breathed in courage.  
She looked at Mickey, then back at Martha, as if realizing something.  
"Why are you here?" she asked. "What's Torchwood?"  
Alyssa turned her head; she knew.  
Mickey looked up proudly, only Martha looked at Andrea in true sadness, as if she was already giving the woman her sincere condolences.  
Because if she was right, and by God she hoped she wasn't, then everything could quickly go to hell in a handbasket.  
"You don't want to know." was all she said.  
Andrea looked from eye to eye, as if examining a lie, and when she took a step forward towards her it almost seemed like she was going to hug her, until she walked on, past her, and into the room.

_'...we are hearing that his condition has stabilized for the moment. We'll be hearing an official statement in half an hour concerning the health of our Defence Minister, in the mean time is there any more news on the financial side of the Thames, Derek?'_

"What's going to happen now?" Mickey asked, as the doctors resumed their work, leaving Martha to watch the family of three, Andrea and her children Michael and Sasha, enter the room.  
Martha anticipated bad news and moved to either prevent it, or fix it before it could get worse.  
That's all she's ever done.  
"Are we done?" Mickey asked.  
Martha shrugged. "Yeah."  
Then she shook her head, correcting herself on the spot.  
"No. I'm going to run more tests. See if there's anything wrong with him."  
"Besides the dicky heart, you mean?" Mickey said. "Did you find any needle marks in his neck?"  
"No." she replied. "But if anything what Jack said is right, we could have a serious crisis on our hands. And to think this is my day off!"  
"But we would have proof, right?" Mickey said. "Proof that Cybus Industries is up to something?"  
"This man could die." Martha said to him. "And you're worried about proof?"  
For a haunting second, Mickey realized that he did care more about bringing down Lumic than saving this man's life.  
"Sorry," he said. "Living in an alternate reality really does have side-effects. I've been here for months, and I still see versions of people, not actual people. It's like I'm not part of this world anymore, like I'm just witnessing events, in time, in reality. This used to be my world, yet I still keep thinking about that other world...Pete's world..."  
"That's what travelling with the Doctor does for you." Martha said and Mickey looked up surprised.  
He had forgotten she used to be his companion as well.  
She had travelled through time and space.  
She even met Shakespeare.  
Yet there's nothing about her now that showed it, all those wondrous things she'd seen...  
"It's like all of a sudden you're seeing this bigger picture, this universe of possibility..."  
"Yet, we're not part of it, are we?"

"Doctor!"  
They both turned to the door where the Minister's son, Michael Clifton, was calling to them, and they quickly rushed to the patient's bed.  
Martha saw the old man's pale face and all the equipment he was still hooked up to, as he spoke with short breaths to his family.  
She was amazed by his rather positive outlook and the fact that he was actually awake after just having a heart-attack.  
She checked his eyes with a small light and when his pupils dilated he twitched and turned away.  
He seemed to be in an almost perfect condition, talking, smiling, without pain, and his heart rate was fine.  
If he hadn't looked so pale, one would've almost assumed he was perfectly fine and he had just awoken from a bad dream.  
Martha had already paged the other doctors.  
She would need their help before the end.

"I'm going to ask you this question again, dad," Michael said to his father. "And I want you to do your best to answer it. Do you hear me?"  
Michael was perhaps 25 years old, Mickey reckoned, probably a student by the looks of him, but the way he spoke was very articulate, very calculating, as if he wasn't a son talking to his father, but a doctor talking to his patient.  
"What is it?" Martha asked. "What's wrong?"  
"Just listen." Michael said to her, and he popped the question.  
"Dad, what is my name?"  
The old man opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it, as if the thought had at that exact moment fleed his mind, never to return again.  
He looked down upon the room with searching eyes, gazing at nothing, searching his mind in increased panic, until he finally looked up at his son not knowing what to call him.  
"What's my name?" Andrea asked her husband, and the Minister desperately tried to answer it.  
"You're my wife." he said. "It's our anniversary today."  
"My name."  
He couldn't say it, because he didn't remember.  
"Does that mean...?" Mickey said, looking up at Martha.  
"We'll need to do an MRI to confirm."

_'...what do you think will happen to the cabinet if Defence Minister Jeremy Clifton does die, which some sources say he already has? No official word yet from the Prime Minister, but there does seem to be something stirring down in Downing Street. Is there any truth to the rumour that New Labour Alan Price will be replacing what seems to be...'_

Mickey remembered the parallel version of Defence Minister Jeremy Clifton on his world, Vice President to President Harriet Jones of Great Britain, although married to a much younger woman after Andrea Clifton underwent cyber-conversion.  
It was him who authorized the creation of the Dimension Cannon by the Torchwood Institute in a single letter, the device which had enabled Mickey's return to his own world.  
He hadn't realized who he was until he saw his face.  
Yes, it was definitely him.  
Mickey watched as they placed him on a stretcher and wheeled him away.  
No word from Jack yet.  
Every ten minutes or so Mickey neurotically checked his messages, only to find his screen completely blank, except for the hands of the clock which kept reminding him of the time that was running out.  
When he turned around he saw the patient's family watching him, and they were joined by a friend in a suit.  
"So who are you then?" the man said to Mickey.  
Mickey had never seen him before and the man was eager to tell Mickey the same.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"Leave him." Andrea said.  
"He could be one of those journalists, paparrazi, poking their noses into business that doesn't concern them!"  
Mickey detested the man already, probably a politician, which his balding scalp and unusually large mouth.  
"He's not a journalist." Michael said. "He's here to help. He says he's Torchwood."  
"Torchwood?" the man said. "He's barely your age!"  
"I'm 29." Mickey said.  
"So you're telling me you're a secret agent?"  
Mickey smiled at the man's ignorance.  
"I'm not telling you anything."

Then, for a split second, when Mickey looked away, there was a man in a wheelchair in the furthest corridor in the hospital where Mickey could still see him, being pushed into the elevator.  
The second lasted a lifetime, and he didn't even hear the man's mocking words anymore as he saw the wheelchair being turned around, facing the elevator's exit.  
When he saw his face Mickey felt as if his body was falling, jumping, without ever lifting his feet from the ground.  
An intense cold ran down his spine as he watched the elevator doors close.  
It was Lumic.  
And in that split second, Mickey knew what to do.

"I'm sorry, but who are you again?" Sandy asked.  
"Doesn't matter." Martha said, as she helped mr. Clifton lie down on the couch, ready to be fed into the tube of the machine where bright light awaited him.  
His strength and virility surprised Martha, confirming her suspicions that something had to be wrong with him.  
He couldn't be up and about so soon after his heart attack.  
"What do you think you'll find?" Alyssa asked as she joined them in the booth.  
The computers were ready to begin the process.  
"Don't know." Martha admitted, although various terrifying images began spinning around in her head.  
She hoped to find none of them, maybe just a tumor.  
Just a tumor.  
Something they could fix.  
Not something that would climb out of his skull and start eating everything in the room.  
"Whatever's affecting him," Sandy said. "We'll find it."  
And find it they did, for when Sandy started the machine Jeremy started screaming in pure agony.  
Every cell in his body was burning, every vein in his body was ready to burst.  
"Shut it down!" Alyssa cried and Martha ran into chamber to get him out.  
When they pulled him out they could see every vein on his body burning red, every single vein like scars on his body, a webbing of human skin pulsating underneath the surface.  
"What's happening to me?" Jeremy asked, in incredible pain, blood pouring out of his nose.  
Martha knew where she would find the answer.  
When she found it, she ordered a new blood test, and another, to confirm it.  
"What is it?" Alyssa asked when Martha put a drop of the Minister's blood under a microscope.  
Her eye gazed closer and closer which each sliding lens, until finally she stared at the source of all their problems and found that it was staring back.

"Oh God."


End file.
